


It All Goes Back to the Dogs

by jatty



Series: Dogs [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Human Trafficking, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 144,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank thought his luck had changed when he won $5,000 on a scratch-off lottery ticket, but it just seemed to make everything worse. First, he couldn’t buy the dog and the unconditional love he wanted because he ended up spending the money on Gerard instead. And, second, the slave he bought out of pity seemed to hate him even though he just wanted to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Despair

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably my best story ever, and it does have a sequel titled Tear Ducts and Rust.

Gerard took his time lining his eyes and concealing the bruise on his cheek, making sure everything from his straightened hair to his pretty eyes was in place for when his keeper came home. He pretended that he didn’t notice Joshua standing in the doorway of the bathroom watching him, trying to poach his techniques and use them in a weak attempt to steal their keeper’s attention for himself. What Joshua didn’t get was that he had supremacy in this house. He had been picked up first. He was the _first_ whore. He was the most important one. He called the shots when their keeper wasn’t home. He deserved the most attention.

It had taken him eight years of passion, understanding, nurturing, affection, love, concern, obedience, loyalty—eight years of complete and utter submission to get where he was now. He would sooner kill Joshua than allow him to make light of his years of work. 

Gerard was their keeper’s, and their keeper was _his_ long before he was ever “theirs”. 

“Why do you do that to your face?” Joshua asked. Gerard recognized his tactic from the other whores who had appeared and subsequently disappeared throughout the years. In a feeble attempt to steal his place in their keeper’s eye, Joshua was trying to knock him down and prey on insecurities. It wouldn’t work. 

“Because He likes me to,” Gerard answered, tilting his head and examining his eyes in the mirror.

“No He doesn’t.” Gerard approved his looks and left the room, turning off the light and clipping Joshua’s shoulder as he moved past him. He slipped through the living room and entered the bedroom, going to the dresser to grab the tube of strawberry flavored lip gloss and sliding it along his lips until he was sure that there was enough for his keeper to get a taste when he came home. “You know He’ll be home soon,” Joshua said as Gerard passed him again, going to the kitchen to make sure (for the third time) that not a dish was out of place.

“Why do you think I’m doing the rounds then?” Gerard snapped. 

“They should be done already,” Joshua said smugly. His snotty demeanor disappeared in an instant when Gerard stormed towards him, not stopping until their noses were touching and their eyes had no choice but to lock.

“It’s called thoroughness,” he spat. “You do the rounds until he gets home to make sure nothing was missed! Once isn’t good enough! Twice isn’t good enough! _Ten times_ isn’t good enough!” Joshua stumbled backward as Gerard moved even closer, not sure if he wanted to beat him to death now or save his sorry ass for later. Their keeper deserved better than this _wretch!_

Gerard’s mind was made up for him when he heard the first of the locks on the front door crack. His heart began to race as he shoved Joshua aside to stake his claim by the front door, waiting to welcome his keeper home.

When the door swung open, Gerard pounced, his arms around his keeper’s neck, legs wound about his waist, lips smashed together. His keeper was used to it—he caught him effortlessly and returned the kiss as he took the two remaining steps into the house. Joshua appeared to close the door for him, remembering to lock every lock, but not recalling the rule Gerard had laid out that said not to _fucking_ watch.

“Paperwork?” Joshua said softly, making Gerard’s eyes shoot open in annoyance as their keeper broke the kiss and motioned for him to drop back down onto his own feet. Gerard obeyed—he always obeyed—but kept his arms around his keeper’s shoulders intimately. His eyes were on Joshua though, glaring him to death for interrupting. 

The keeper saw the look Gerard passed to Joshua and knew that his decision had been right. Gerard was overstepping too many boundaries, somehow seeing himself as more elite than the other whores due to his long history in the house. Perhaps Gerard _was_ better than the others in some ways, especially since he was the only kept person that he really loved at all, but those days were over now.

“You have paperwork?” Gerard asked, suddenly putting on an innocent air and breaking off the embrace so he could try to get a peek at the forms. His keeper held them back from him, hiding the contents of the text to his chest.

“Yes. Go sit on the couch.” Gerard moved and sat. Instant obedience. The type that took years to form but that he seemed to have given his keeper since day one. “Joshua, you stand over there.” He motioned for a corner of the room behind the couch, wanting him present but not within Gerard’s line of vision. Joshua, too, obeyed. He was the perfect replacement. 

“You look sad, Honey. Are you sad?” Gerard asked in the strange voice he put on whenever Joshua was around. The tone told the keeper that Gerard was threatened by the new presence. He had a right to be.

“We’ve got something to talk about, Gerard.” His pet made eye contact, proving that he was listening with every scrap of attention he had. “You hurt my other whores—your bedmates. You threatened them, you _attempt_ to threaten the men who sold them to me,” he began, moving to stand in front of the couch, but not sitting on it beside his toy. Gerard broke eye contact to glance at the floor very briefly before looking back up. His eyes were already wet. He knew he was in trouble. “You convinced one of my whores to commit suicide!” Gerard lowered his head again, shoulders starting to shake as he fought the tears.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whimpered, looking up to make eye contact and sounding sincere. He was always sorry when he was about to be punished. He couldn’t handle his keeper’s anger.

“Is that good enough?” Gerard looked down, shook his head, and then made eye contact again, the tears falling rapidly.

“No.”

“So here’s how it is, Gerard.” He began making and breaking eye contact over and over as he fought back sobs, knowing his master hated the noise. “You’ve become too much for me to handle. I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. This paperwork is to put you back on the market. I’m selling you to someone else.”

Oh, but that devastation was real. So real.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank Iero was sure that if he hadn’t just used the gas station’s bathroom, he would’ve pissed himself. So to make up for his physical lack of response, he screamed once his throat unclenched from the initial shock of seeing three gray boxes on his scratch-off lottery card match for a value over one dollar. 

At first, he told himself it was only five dollars, and that they put the extra zero on the end just to trick poor idiots like himself. But when he looked closer he saw that it didn’t say $5.000, it said $5,000—dollar sign, five, _comma_ , zero, zero, zero. Five thousand dollars. Three and a half thousand Euro. Three point one thousand British pounds. Fifty-eight thousand Mexican pesos. 

Whatever the fuck it was, it meant one thing to Frank, and one thing only.

He finally had enough for a dog.

Sure, some people would see that five thousand and shout out that they could stop their house from being foreclosed on, could afford that trip overseas, could pay those medical bills, could pay for their kid’s schooling, could donate it to one God or another—not Frank, though. He saw it, and images of puppies gnawing squeaky rubber bones came to mind and he grinned madly. 

Maybe if it had said five thousand and one dollars instead of just five thousand, he may have even given the gas station’s clerk a hug he was so damned ecstatic about it. He didn’t hug the bug-eyed woman, but he did shake her hand though after she went to the back and of the store and returned with his five thousand. 

The only thing that stopped him from running out and getting himself that cuddly little ball of warmth and unconditional love was the fact that it was nine-thirty at night on a Sunday. No humane society would be open…

No dog today.

Frank felt his heart sink a little as he walked the street, going the wrong direction to get to his apartment, but not really worrying. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was getting there. The street was starting to look less and less inviting as he traveled down it, making him fist his separated wads of money where they resided in his pockets. He liked to feel the paper in his hands, to know that it was safe and not slipping out and spilling on the sidewalk for some junkie or crack-whore to find. Doing this also kept the pickpockets away, even if he couldn’t stop the real thieves from putting a gun to his head and taking his prize away.

After dodging a few shady figures by dipping on to side streets like a timid street-novice, he ended up outside of a bar that looked just as dejected and lonely as the apartment buildings surrounding it. There were voices coming from inside the building, surprisingly large for the neighborhood, and Frank suddenly got the magnificent idea that he would be _that_ guy.

The one that showed up out of nowhere and bought a round of drinks for everyone in the bar—even if he only stood at nineteen years of age—for no reason at all besides elated generosity. After all, a dog didn’t cost five thousand, and a round of drinks could cost no more than one-tenth of that amount… Financially, it sounded like a safe idea, so he went up to the door that revealed the bar’s exclusivity by being locked, and knocked.

The door immediately swung open, the force startling him and making him back a step away. A black man, probably three times his own size, with a bald head and a nose piercing that made Frank’s own look like a little girl’s clip on hoop earring glared down at him with bloodshot eyes and a horrific snarl.

“How much you got?” The man spat, his teeth perfectly white, but carnal.

“How much you need?” Frank spat back, relying on the ferocity he’d learned over the years to keep himself safe. He wasn’t a mean guy, but he could play the part. The man looked him over and Frank kept his face narrow and angry. He could tell that guy was about to slam the door when he got the brilliant idea to try to stick his foot in the door—metaphorically at least. “I’m missing the show, man. I’m here to buy.” He didn’t know why that made the man’s demeanor change, but he wasn’t feeling thankful when he found himself being let in.

“Fifty bucks.” Frank found his hand rifting through the bills in his pocket, securing one of the hundreds and handing it over. 

“Better give me my change, man,” Frank spat, eyeing the guy that could squash him easily as he pocketed the bill.

“Or what?” The man responded, leaning down to get his face within inches of Frank’s. Frank didn’t blink.

“Or I don’t buy,” he stated. The man gave him a knowing look, a look that made him nervous as hell, and backed a step back into the bar that had gone freakishly quiet. He took a fifty out of his pocket and handed it to Frank. 

“How much money you got?” The man asked, ushering Frank inside. Frank took a step in, noticing that the smell of alcohol was missing, but the reek of sweat was too heavy to bear. The door opened into a hallway that was sealed off on both ends by closed doors. Once he was inside, the man who quit looking like he was about to kill him shut the door leading out and locked it in several places. 

“Who needs to know?” Frank asked, holding his money a little tighter in the pockets of his jeans.

“The guys selling,” the man spat, looking to Frank with rage again. “How much cash you got?”

“Five thousand,” Frank hissed, narrowing his eyes as his heart began to race. _Next time,_ he thought, _go to a bar you know. If there is a next time. If you make it out of this one. This could be the end._ “But you ain’t gettin’ it all.” He made eye contact as he spoke, trying to look vicious again and thinking more of Doberman Pinschers and Rottweilers than little Pugs, Bichons, and terriers.

The man shrugged and stuck out his lower lip.

“You already missed the best half of the show, man,” he said, his tone becoming friendly—a street friendly. An ‘I’ll laugh at you now, but if you wrong me again I’ll shoot you in the back of the head’ friendly. He tapped Frank’s shoulder and pointed to the door on the right end of the hall, spoke, and then pointed to the one on the left end and spoke. “Girls. Boys.” 

A gender segregated bar. Frank had never heard of such a thing, but he started towards the left side hall and the man followed him, opening the door for him and waiting until he’d just cleared it before slamming it shut again, done escorting Frank and returning to his job as bouncer. 

Frank stared at the immense crowd he’d walked into in almost horror. At some point in time, this “bar” had to have been a theatre, a little dine-in and watch the show sort of theatre with a small stage and an array of tables for the onlookers to sit at. Only there were too many tables so people were standing around those who were sitting, all staring at him. 

He could tell that they didn’t like that they didn’t recognize him, but they went back to talking once they saw he wasn’t a threat to whatever they were in the process of doing and looked back at the stage—the only lit place in the room. 

What the hell kind of place was this? A strip club? But strip clubs all had booze. This place was barren of alcohol. When a scream erupted from behind the stage, his heart froze in his chest and his blood iced over. 

He knew what this place was, and he knew that if he turned around and tried to leave, he was going to be dead within a matter of minutes…or be forced to face the same fate as the too-skinny teenage boy being drug onto the stage, screaming and clawing at the man restraining him. He’d won the lottery and walked his ass right into a human trafficking ring.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank had intended to stay up against the back wall, not wanting to venture into the crowd that chanted, cheered, and jeered at the slaves drug onto the stage for them to bid on. Some were only for sale for the night, some were to be rented out as long as the bidder wanted or as deep as his wallet went…some were for sale for good. Being transferred from one hand into another like…like a dog. With no say in what happened to it.

The ones sold for nights cost feeble amounts. One boy that looked to be about sixteen being sold for twelve dollars. Some cost ten dollars an hour. The slaves sold from one “master” to another, varied in price. A fourteen year old boy was sold for twenty five thousand, the cash transaction taking place on the stage before the owner, the new owner, and the slave went behind the curtain to discuss matters further in privacy. A man that looked to be in his twenties had just been sold for six thousand.

He looked for a clock, but didn’t find one, and knew better than to bring out his cell phone to check the time. No one else had grabbed for their phones, telling him that it was obviously a rule. Of course it was a rule—you can’t take photos of the sex trade. He told himself that he’d stay for an hour and then leave, hoping to live to tell the bouncer that no one here was good. That he wanted someone...more attractive than what he’d seen.

He was surprised he managed to keep his head about him as one slave after another was brought out, described in humiliating detail, and sold. More sobs and screams could be heard behind the stage, each one invading Frank’s head even though he tried to block them out.

Was this punishment, he began to wonder. Because he’d wanted to buy a dog he was being forced to see how terrible the life of a pet would be—to prove that he wouldn’t want to be treated the way dogs are. Did something out there, instead, want him to give the cash to a charity?

As the shuddery whimpers of the next slave to be auctioned off reached an earsplitting volume before he was even drug onto the stage, Frank prepared to leave. He couldn’t take one more dejected presence, one more wordlessly weeping victim too afraid to beg for mercy, being forced in front of him.

Just as he started creeping back towards the door, the slave appeared, being pulled only by the arm from backstage while most had been drug by the hair or even picked up and carried to get them to move. His owner looked like most of the other owners, dressed casually, but treated his…dog…better than the others. After all, the slave was better behaved than the others, though somehow appearing less willing to go up for sale than the others even though he just stood there, trembled, and sobbed.

“Quiet,” the man said to his black-haired slave. It choked out one last whimper, but lowered its face and volume almost immediately. All Frank could catch a glimpse of was a face stained from running black eyeliner and a toothy grimace. And though the man had been speaking to his pet, the audience went quiet as well….or maybe they were just shocked that the man put an arm around the shoulders of his less-than-human sex toy which instantly began to sob again. “You guys aren’t gonna like this one,” he said, smiling and chuckling as he said it. “You can’t get him to do a line of coke anymore to save his life, so you won’t be able to keep him trapped that way. Don’t try to force him either. It’s not worth it. Give him a kiss every now and then and he’ll come around.” The whore turned its face away, pressing it against his own shoulder in a feeble attempt to hide. Frank felt his heart split open when the slave lifted a hand to touch its master’s, obviously begging for him to change whatever decision he’d made. “He’s a good whore. He does everything he’s told to— _kneel._.” The slave sobbed, but complied, his knees seeming to give out on their own and slamming him onto the wood floor of the stage. “He’s also, only five hundred.” The crowd instantly began to jeer, then chant. 

They thought for sure that the slave was diseased.

“You know me, guys. Come on! If he’s that cheap, he’s got problems—one of them being the fact you can’t keep him tied to you with coke—but you know I wouldn’t sell you something diseased.” The crowd hummed and the man smirked. “I take too much pleasure in killing them.” Frank felt that he was about to be sick, but held himself together because one of the men in the crowd was watching him. “I’ve had this little _pet_ for eight years. I bought him off a man that had had him less than three months, trained him up nice—though I say I’ve done a little better.” The crowd laughed, but Frank didn’t see what was so funny. “It kills me to give him up, but it’s time he left.” The slave’s mouth moved and the room fell silent except for a theatrical gasp.

“Please don’t,” the slave whimpered. “Please don’t.” 

“You shut your mouth, _now_ ,” the owner hissed, annunciating his words by fisting his hand in his slave’s hair and pulling it hard. His pet choked out another cry, but didn’t speak again. It settled instead for nuzzling its master’s leg, seeking affection…mercy. As it moved its head, Frank could see all of the worry and terror on its face— _his_ face—even through the smeared eyeliner and tearstains. 

“He’s not trained!” One man in the crowd spat out. The owner laughed and held up one finger in a silencing gesture.

“No, you see, he’s too well trained. He _loves_ me. That’s another reason he’s so cheap.” The slave broke into loud sobs again, exhausting his owner to the point that he released his hair in order to slap him. The injury silenced him for good. “He also has a big head. He gets possessive and doesn’t want to let anyone else around you, going so far as to attack my other whores to keep them away when I come home for work. Don’t let him fool you. He’s got fight left in him—he bites the dick that feeds.” He scowled at his pet when he said it, and the slave lowered its head further as the crowd groaned. “He’s also got a tooth going bad that you’re gonna need to get pulled, because he won’t eat now since it ‘hurts too much’.”

“He’s useless,” an observer shouted.

“Next one!” Another replied.

“You know if I don’t sell him I have to kill him, right?” The master asked, not at all upset about the meaning of what he’d just said or the affect it had on his slave. It began shaking harder, nuzzling its owner’s leg again with more despair in each motion, quiet whimpers escaping him again. “Five hundred. It’s a fair price for a starter-whore—first time slave. He’s trained. He just wants to serve you.”

“He’s too old! Next one!” The owner scowled in the direction of the voice.

“Five hundred bucks. It’s a fair price.” The crowd mumbled its way to silence, and as each second ticked by the slave became more frantic. “Come on, don’t make me kill him.” The whimpers were turning back into vocal sobs. “Five hundred…No? Four eighty.” A loud sob and Frank caved. 

They’d kill him. No one wanted him, so they’d kill him. The thing was scared to death, so wounded by its keeper’s betrayal and yet still trying to get affection back from him by pressing its forehead urgently against his leg. 

He had five thousand. All this man asked for was a tenth of that…exactly what he’d been planning to spend on beer that he wasn’t even of a legal age to drink, not that any bar would really care on his end of town… Beer or a human life? 

“Four seventy,” Frank shouted, just as the owner began to pet his slave’s hair in an apologetic gesture that it understood too well. 

“Four eighty,” the owner shouted back, trying to single out the bidder in the crowd with his eyes. Frank helped him, he began walking forward on legs he could hardly feel over the hum of his nerves.

“Four seventy five! He fuckin’ bites.” He made it to the front of the room, looking up at the owner but catching the slave’s eye as well. It looked like it hated him. Like it would have rather died than be sold to some strange person. It looked, with its amazingly bright, hazel eyes, right through him. It made his heart stop.

“Anyone want to go to four eighty?” He scanned the crowd again, and someone shouted the number back to him, making Frank jolt back to awareness.

“Four eighty-five,” he mumbled, knowing the slave heard him, if not the master.

“Anyone go up to four ninety?” The owner asked, smirking since the game was beginning to take off. The same person as before repeated the number.

“Five hundred fifty,” Frank spat, looking up and catching the owner’s eye. “I’m done playing games.” They locked eyes, and then the owner smirked.

“Sold.” And the whore broke into the same fit of hysterics as those before it had. Loud cries, wails, sudden pleas for him to reconsider—the only difference in his actions, besides speaking, was that he clung to his owner whereas the others tried to escape. “Come backstage and we’ll discuss it further.”

( ) ( ) ( )

It was as if he’d just blinked and he was back in the fully-lit room. The slave was clinging to its owner in desperation, silent after being slapped again, and finished giving Frank dirty looks after being verbally thrashed by the man it loved. The insult that seemed to hurt the worst “You’re worthless. You’d do better for the world laying in the bottom of the dumpster with your guts slit open”. 

“You don’t have any others at your house, do you? Whores, slaves, companions, whatevers…”

“No,” Frank said, handing over exactly five hundred and fifty dollars. 

“Good. Like I said. He gets jealous easily—yes, yes.” He turned his attention back to his—well, Frank’s—slave as it began to butt its head against his shoulder, starting to nuzzle it desperately. “You’re not mine anymore, go to him.” He gently pushed the creature away, not hitting it since it wasn’t his to beat anymore.

“Come here, Babe,” Frank said softly, grabbing the tear drenched slave’s wrist and pulling him over to him gently. Just touching him made something go off in Frank’s mind. He felt protective, suddenly feeling the need to hold the slave close and give it comfort it was trying to reject. 

“Go to him!” The former owner shouted. “Now!” It didn’t think twice. It went to Frank and buried its head in his shoulder, its back to the man that had yelled at him. “But, yeah, you’re gonna wanna get that tooth fixed. He won’t eat until it is. It really does hurt him a lot.”

“I’ve got the money for it,” Frank said, keeping his voice soft as he became enraptured in stroking the shaking slave’s back and holding it gently. It calmed him somehow. Maybe because he knew his worries here were over. He’d bought someone; that meant he wasn’t a spy that needed taken care of out back by the dumpsters.

“He’s got some scars, but I didn’t give them to him. These are his medical records—his fake I.D., social security card, everything you need.” Frank took the papers with his free hand and glanced at them. 

“How old is he?” He asked keeping an uninterested tone.

“Twenty-something. I don’t know.”

“What’s his name?” Frank knew he asked the wrong question when the man started eyeing him. He held the slave a little tighter, and felt it begin to nuzzle his neck.

“What do you want it to be?” 

“Well, what do you call him?” The man looked back down at the money and counted it again.

“Babe.” The man looked at him and glared suspiciously.

“For five hundred bucks, he’s gotta suck in bed.” The man snorted.

“Nah. But he bites. Don’t stick it in his mouth when he’s pissed unless you wanna lose it. So I’d suggest you treat him good the next coupla months if you want him to give you head. Or bust his teeth out, I don’t really care.” He laughed and pointed towards a door that didn’t have an exit sign. “That’s the way out. You need help getting him to your car?”

“I walked, but thanks,” Frank said, lifting his hand to pet his new ‘dog’s’ hair gently before letting him go. It looked at him accusingly, but followed him with every step he took. Before he opened the door, he folded the papers and put them in his pockets with his money. 

“You live nearby?” The man asked following him, even after he opened the door which led into an identical hallway to the one out front. This one, however, lacked a bouncer.

“No, I live in Portland. I came down here to shop.” The man examined him, and the slave pressed its forehead to the back of Frank’s shoulder.

“Portland, Oregon or Maine?”

“Maine,” Frank snapped back, unlocking the deadbolts on the door he really hoped led outside, his heart starting to race again. “You think I want to try to fly with this thing? Or check it into a hotel? This drive back is gonna be bad enough.” God, he hoped they wouldn’t try to follow him. God, he hoped this wasn’t the action signing his death certificate. God, he hoped the police didn’t stop him.

“He’s a good boy,” the owner said, catching the slave’s eye. Frank thought the man looked close to tears himself. Not wanting to wait anymore, Frank unlocked the last of the deadbolts and pulled open the door, loving the air that washed over him that proved he wasn’t being led into a killing cell. “Take care, Babe,” he said as Frank grabbed the slave’s wrist and led him gently out of the bar and into the alley behind it.

“I love you,” it whimpered in response, its voice raw and heavy. It stared at the doorway, even after its former owner closed it and redid the locks. It showed resistance to Frank when he tried to lead it to the street, but inevitably followed, head down, shoulders forward, mouth shut, eyes slowly drying. 

_Take him to the cops. Just take him to the cops.—No! If you do that they’ll all find out and they’ll kill you for busting up their ring! Just let him go. Let him run.—No, he’ll just go back to them. He’s in love with that man. He’ll try to find him and he’ll be sold again, or killed!—No, take him home. Take care of him. Fix his tooth, get him fed.—No, take him to the cops and say you found him.—No, they’ll put him in some awful place while they try to figure out who he is.—No, they’ll send him to an asylum because he’s fucked in the head—No, just take him home—just let him go—take him to the cops—take him home—get rid of him!_

Frank’s mind just spun as he led his new companion through the streets and to his house by the wrist, trying to get him to walk closer so he didn’t look like a parent dragging a reluctant child down the city streets—awarding him the suspicion of passersby—but the man he’d bought wouldn’t come any closer than an arm’s length. 

As if after an eternity of looking over his shoulder and jumping seven feet in the air at the wail of every siren he heard, he made it to his apartment building. That was where his companion started to cry again, feebly trying to pull his hand free from Frank’s grasp. Frank let him go, wondering if he’d actually run and his decision of whether or not to keep him would be made for him.

But the man stayed. He just cradled his hand to his chest and cried pitifully, his head down and his shoulders shaking. Frank stood and watched, not sure if he should just leave him standing there—not wanting to do that anywhere in his heart or mind—or force him into the building, causing suspicion to arise with his neighbors.

“Please, no,” the man whimpered. “Eight years, just him—please, no.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” Frank said softly, touching the man’s hand. He didn’t flinch, just cried. “I just wanted to get you out of there,” he whispered. His companion didn’t respond, just stood crying.

He fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the building’s door, holding it open and making a gesture for the man to go inside. Of course, he obeyed, and followed him up every stair and down every hall, and stopped outside of the only door that mattered. He stared at that door with horror though, imagining the worst things behind it, envisioning all of the terrible things he knew would happen in there. Knowing he would have rather died.


	2. Why Are We Laughing

Frank felt awful when he had to push the man he’d purchased into his apartment, even though it was only a gentle nudge. He could only imagine what the slave was thinking, fearing, stressing over…He didn’t know what lay in store for him anymore than a dog would, but instead of rushing eagerly inside to find out, he responded with justifiable terror.

“It’s okay,” Frank tried to reassure once he made it into the apartment and closed the door behind him, flinching with his new housemate as the lock cracked into place. “Really, I promise, it’s okay.” The man stood with his back to him, shoulders still hunched inward in terror, shaking with each loud sob, and his head down as low as it could possibly be.

The waves of pity could have knocked Frank down and easily drug him under. No human deserved a life like this one had—no one deserved to be reduced to a state of such complete and utter terror, fearing that the only thing coming was pain and death.

He moved with a wide arc of space between himself and the man, and came to stand in front of him, trying to catch his gaze. He could achieve it, but only for a second at a time before the man would look away. Even then, the bloodshot hazel eyes that held the sadness of the world and the wrath of the devil attempt to stop his heart.

How could something behaving so pitifully give him a look that threatened to murder if he took one step closer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Frank said quietly. “Not today, or tomorrow—I promise. Please, calm down, okay?” The man glared at him darkly and then looked away as another wave of tears hit him. The tears were choked out, leading to troubled breathing and, ultimately, a convulsion of gagging that literally brought the miserable man to his knees on the floor. “Oh, please, _please_ calm down,” Frank begged, going down with him and putting what he wanted to be a comforting hand on his shoulder. The man just groaned as if he’d been burned and fell away from the touch, ending up lying on his side on the floor, shaking.

It took ten minutes more of sobbing and one last fit of gagging and dry heaves before the tortured soul finally relaxed…or gave up. Frank was most certain that it was the latter, not the former. He settled into quiet whimpers, but otherwise remained silent and still on the floor, eyes fixed on the doorway to the bedroom and tainted with dread and anguish.

Not knowing what else to do, Frank reached out and stroked his hair gently, noticing it felt greasy to his touch and wondering how devastated the slave would become if he offered it a shower. The man didn’t blink or move when he was touched—he remained still, detached from his body and lost somewhere in his mind. Frank didn’t know what to do with him, but he didn’t want him to stay on the floor. If he was tired, there was a couch—two of them, each in different rooms—and if he really wanted to sleep in it, a bed he could have as well.

“Eight years,” the man whimpered, turning his eyes to Frank and looking at him with only desperation. “He’ll come back for me. He _has_ to. He _needs_ me.” Frank didn’t know what to say, but he prayed that the man was wrong because if his former master returned, it meant he, Frank, was going to end up dead.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard didn’t remember getting up off of the floor. He hardly remembered laying down on it or why he was there in the first place. The absence of pain in his body, other than his face from where he’d been slapped earlier, and his tooth from its infection, told him he hadn’t been raped yet. He was scared to death, he wouldn’t lie, but for some reason he trusted this man he was with a little more. 

The other whores had told him so many stories about so many “first nights”. The door to the house opened, the door to the house closed, the torture started. There was no “shh, it’ll be okay” or “no, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry”, just beatings and sex. There were three conclusions that Gerard could come to. Either a) this man was trying to deceive him with kindness to win his trust so he could abuse him worse and relish in his emotional destruction, b) the man was just a kind master who really cared about his whores, or c) this man was just a man, not a master at all. 

Gerard feared the third conclusion the most. It was different from what he knew. What were normal people? People on the outside? According to both of his former masters, they weren’t to be trusted. They were a cruel and judgmental race that looked down upon the whores despite the pain of their predicament or how unwillingly they were put into it. If this man was like that, why didn’t he want him to cry? Why did he beg him to calm down and “shh”…reassure him that it was going to be all right?

Gerard didn’t remember getting off of the floor, but he remembered giving his new master a kiss—accepting him as his _temporary_ keeper until _his_ master realized his mistake and came back for him. What had he been thinking, really? Joshua couldn’t _ever_ please him the way Gerard could!

When he kissed this new master, the master turned his face away sharply.

“No.” It wasn’t shouted, but it was spoken firmly enough that it made Gerard feel bad. He didn’t like being scolded for anything. It meant he had a flaw that made him unlikable. “You don’t need to do that for me,” the master carried on. Gerard wouldn’t look at him after that, preferring the dirty floor’s less accusing stare. “Come here,” he said after a long pause. “I’ll show you around—show you where your room will be.”

Will be, Gerard recollected long after it had been spoken, too lost in his own thoughts to really register any words right away, the way a good slave would have…the way he would have for his other master… Will be… That meant there wasn’t one now. What did that mean? That this new master hadn’t been expecting him? 

“There’s only a couch in here right now, but I promise, I’ll get a bed for you tomorrow so you have a good place to sleep.” Gerard stared at him and turned his head a little to the side, not at all understanding this game or mind trick. Couch? Bed? Chair? Floor? Bathtub? Who cared where he slept as long as he was allowed to… “I’ll bring some pillows and blankets in for tonight so you’re more comfortable.” 

“Why?” Gerard asked without thinking, speaking his thoughts out loud and groaning in regret the instant he caught himself. The master looked at him for the longest time, as if confused.

“So you’re more comfortable,” he repeated, before describing the obvious furniture in the apartment’s spare room. It was obviously an office of some kind. The typical computer on the typical desk with all of the typical wires and jargon that Gerard knew better than to try to understand. There was a file cabinet against the wall, the comfortable enough looking couch across the room from it… What took Gerard’s attention were the three guitars mounted on the wall. 

Functional artwork? He didn’t understand, but he knew it would hurt badly to get hit with one of those if he broke one, so he made a mental note never to even breathe on them. Then he almost instantly took the resolution back.

If his former master—his beloved keeper of eight goddamn years—never came back for him, he would defiantly break all three of those damned, stringed machines. He’d rather be dead than go on the rest of his life feeling as lonely and dejected as he already did after less than two hours apart from his keeper. He missed him so much. He _loved_ him so much…

“The bathroom is this way,” the new master said, recalling Gerard’s attention from the guitars. “I’ll get you a toothbrush and your own—oh shit, your own clothes, your own soaps, your own _food_ —anything you need—tomorrow.” No clothes? No bath supplies? Ugh—just the thought of food made his tooth hurt. “And your appointment! I’ll make an appointment with a dentist tomorrow morning! First thing—first thing.” The master turned away from the bathroom door and disappeared around the corner into the narrow kitchen that Gerard didn’t enter. Food…pain. Cold drinks…pain. Hot drinks…pain. God, he was so thirsty. “Um, you can have whatever you want, whenever you want. What’s mine is, uh, yours.” This new master was fucking insane. He was freaking out about something, and it scared Gerard that he couldn’t figure out what. “We’ll get more things tomorrow. Whatever you want to eat, I’ll buy it for you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow… Gerard finally figured out the mind game. Tomorrow would never come. He’d just hold that promise over his head and taunt him with it, and then say “no, you can’t have those things now because you misbehaved”. 

“Are you hungry at all? Do you want something to—” Gerard shook his head violently and backed a step away. “Oh, your tooth, right—shit. Um. Drink? Water? Soda? Milk?”

“Coffee?” Gerard looked at him hopefully, knowing the dark, caffeinated drink would really set his nerves right at that moment. The hope faded quickly. Tomorrow, he was going to say. I’ll get some tomorrow… Gerard looked down at the floor.

“Sorry. I don’t have any. Tomorrow, though. Or I could go out now. Gas stations are always open, and the one I know has—”

“Coffee?” Gerard repeated, not knowing if he was being so bold as to ask his master to leave his house in the middle of the night to fulfill the worthless desire of a slave or just asking for punishment for cutting his new master’s sentence short.

“I’ll go now,” his new master said, sliding past him and leaving the kitchen, going straight for the front door and unlocking it. “Do you want to go?” Gerard shook his head no aggressively. He didn’t walk the streets at night anymore. “Okay, but please be here when I get back—or, or don’t if you have somewhere you know you can be safe. Home—your family. Wherever…” Gerard didn’t know what his new master was proposing, but he glared at him just incase he was suggesting the very worst idea ever. “Okay, I’m leaving. I’ll be back.” He opened the door and stepped into the hall, starting to close the door behind him and then opening it all the way again. “Cream? Sugar?” Gerard shook his head once. “No. Okay. Coffee—I’ll be back.” He closed the door, Gerard heard it lock, and then he was all on his own…no Joshua to keep him company, no Laurence, no Adam, no Shawn… No one.

This master had no other whores…

It scared him. Being alone scared him. Not knowing anything about this man scared him—not knowing what punishment would fall on him if he broke any of the unspoken rules of the house terrified him. 

To keep his mind occupied after staring at the door for ten minutes, Gerard began to creep towards the rooms he hadn’t been shown. 

There was a miniscule hallway that had two doors off of it. One led into the bathroom, and the other was undoubtedly his master’s bedroom. He knew he shouldn’t go in there, knew it would definitely earn him a beating if this really was any sort of master that he was living with…

But a master that ran late-night errands for a cup of coffee? No… It didn’t fit. It wasn’t normal. It was wrong!

To distract himself, he went into the bathroom, trying to convince himself to stay the _hell_ out of his master’s room until he was invited in. He turned on the light and looked the small room over. The counter by the sink had bottles on it that Gerard recognized—makeup remover, face washes, aftershave, shaving cream, hair gel, hair spray, cologne… 

He caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, grimaced and immediately turned his head away. Maybe when his master got home, he’d be allowed to use the makeup remover to clean the running eyeliner and mascara—so carefully put on to please the master who’d abandoned him—off his face…

The shower was clean, and bottles of liquid soaps and shampoos lined it—almost like in a salon, Gerard thought. Why did he need so many brands? 

Quickly, the room began to bore him—even though he’d managed to take a piss despite every sound he thought he heard startling him. He hadn’t asked if he could go, knew he probably wouldn’t when his master returned, and that was something that most—if not all—of the keepers disallowed. You piss when they tell you you can—even if twenty-four hours have gone by.

Gerard meandered back into the hall, wishing the toilet would quit running so his chances of being caught would completely dissipate. He tried to get himself to go back to the living area with the couch, recliner, television, coffee table, and book shelf, but couldn’t… 

He delved into the bedroom of his master, taking in the sight of the messy bed, the clothes on the floor even though there was an empty hamper hanging from an open closet door. There weren’t any photos on the walls, or pictures, but another guitar was hidden away beside the headboard of the bed. It was pretty, white—so pure Gerard felt like he contaminated it just by looking at it, so sure his new master would punish him for corrupting the purity of it—he liked that guitar, and he didn’t know why. 

He peeled his eyes off of it to look over some of the papers he found on the dresser, beside the stereo system and in front of the massive CD and cassette racks that were pressed against the wall. 

Frank Iero. His master’s name was Frank Iero… How did you pronounce that? 

He let the question leave his mind and he began to scan the CDs. Music. What was music? Was he allowed to know here? Not wanting to see something he wasn’t allowed to, he turned and looked back at the bed. It was big enough, but not large by any means, but it did look so comfortable and inviting. Gerard wondered if he was going to be raped there some night soon. Then he remembered you couldn’t rape what you own, you just break it in.

Then he wondered what the price would be for the coffee and felt the tears start again.

What was taking his new master so long? Instead of going out and buying coffee, was he finding men to bring home…to sell his new slave to for a few hours of the night?

He began to whimper quietly and abandoned the bedroom to stand by the doorway to the apartment again, where Frank had left him, not sure what he was going to do when he laid eyes on the men he was to be sold to. The other whores told stories of masters who rented them out…beatings, painful fetishes, tortures, abuse… His old master had been so gentle and easy to please. He wasn’t trained for this—he didn’t know what to do! If it hurt too bad, he’d start to hyperventilate. And if they didn’t stop, he’d black out!

What was the punishment for that? He didn’t want hurt! He was just thirsty—he’d just wanted a coffee to calm his nerves!

He stared at the door and cried for over half an hour before he finally heard the lock rattle. His heart skipped ten beats—at least—as the door opened in what seemed like slow motion. He heard plastic bags rustling, he heard his new master, Frank, he heard Frank sigh… Frank came in, and Gerard backed away from him in fear.

What was in the bags he was carrying? Was it really coffee in the large Styrofoam cup in his hand? Were there drugs in it? What would happen to him while he was unconscious if there were?

( ) ( ) ( )

“Can you believe that they won’t take hundred dollar bills down there unless you spend at least fifty? Unbelievable.” Frank shut his mouth when he saw that his new companion had been crying and seemingly hadn’t moved since he’d left. “Oh, Sweetie, don’t cry. I’m sorry I took so long—I got some stuff for you.” After closing and relocking the door, Frank went to him and handed him the coffee. He took it and held it close, but seemed reluctant to drink. “They actually had tooth brushes, so I got you one…and a little thing of toothpaste.” Frank tried to hand him one of the three bags, but the man backed away from him, starting to attempt to hand the coffee back as well. Frank just pretended he didn’t notice. “I bought cigarettes—just to get to that damned fifty dollars since the snack food wasn’t doing it. Do you like—ah, you don’t care. Um—bed! You look tired.” The man looked at the coffee cup and then back at him. “Guess you won’t be when you drink that—uh.” For what to do with him now, Frank was at a loss. “What did you say your name was?” The man stared at him, eyes burrowing into him with hate.

“What do you want to call me?” Frank sighed and wiped at his face with his hands. This was going to be difficult.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard took a tentative sip of the coffee, found it lukewarm, and took a mouthful and swallowed. This new master was kind of cute. Frank was so worried about pleasing him that it made Gerard feel strange for worrying about pleasing Frank. Could that be called…cute? 

“If you wanted, you could wash your face.” Gerard didn’t wait to be commanded twice. He left the room with his coffee and set it on the bathroom counter, grabbing for the makeup remover and looking into the cupboard beneath the sink for any cotton balls or sheets. He found the circular, cotton pads next to a bottle of rubbing alcohol and took two of them—one for each eye, or _cheek_ rather. 

Having the black stains washed away began to make him feel better, more sane, with each swipe. He felt that he looked better without the makeup for once, but didn’t like the flushed appearance of his face or the veins showing in his eyes. Nor did he like the bruise on his cheek that he had expertly concealed for his master…

Frank didn’t seem to like it either. He slipped into the bathroom, making Gerard stiffen with apprehension, and touched the bruise softly. Gerard didn’t pull away, he let it happen. This was his master now, if only for a little while, and he had to let him do as he pleased.

“They shouldn’t hit you,” Frank mumbled.

“They?” Gerard echoed before looking for a trashcan to throw the black-stained pads into.

“Your masters or whoever,” Frank mumbled, taking the pads and leaving the room with them. Gerard grabbed his coffee and followed amiably. 

“They’re my masters—they were supposed to.” Then, without really thinking, he added on. “You will.”

“I won’t!” Frank said, this time close to shouting, but not quite getting there verbally. The firm look he sent Gerard made him cringe, though. Why did he speak out of turn to this master? Oh, right…because he didn’t care if he died.

Why couldn’t he decide if he liked this man or hated him? That question, Gerard did not have an answer to.

“Do you want me to take a shower?” Gerard asked as Frank, after throwing the cotton sheets in the kitchen trashcan, returned to the bathroom and began lining up the toothbrush and paste he’d bought on the counter.

“If you want to,” Frank commented. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to do whatever you want me to do,” Gerard replied, trying to read the expression on Frank’s face. It was muddled with irritation, exhaustion, and worry. 

“Likewise,” Frank mumbled. “You’ll feel better after a shower though. Towels are in the cupboard,” he said as he pointed to the cupboard above the toilet. Gerard sighed and took one last sip of his coffee. The master was right, he would feel better after taking a shower to wash away the filth he’d picked up at that ‘show ring’ his old master had taken him to…the ‘auction house’ or whatever it was to be called. He sighed, set down his drink, and pulled off his shirt, slightly alarmed when he heard a door slam as he was pulling the fabric over his head. 

He looked up, holding his discarded shirt loosely in his hands, and noticed that he was alone. After glancing at his bruised torso and slightly bulging stomach—the weight he couldn’t lose even though he’d stopped eating days ago—he began to wonder if he really was so terrible that his master couldn’t bear the sight of him and had run away…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank heard the shower start and ran into his room, taking his cellphone out of his pocket and ignoring the paperwork, fake IDs, and cash that fell onto the floor as he did. He closed his bedroom door all but a crack and dropped onto his bed, flipping through his contacts and singling out a number to call. This was all too much to handle on his own, he needed to talk to someone, even if phone calls were traceable and recorded in secret offices all around the world. He didn’t want arrested for human trafficking, but he just couldn’t do this on his own.

So he forced someone else to get involved. He called Ray. Surely there were more important things going on in the world than one nineteen-year-old in New Jersey having second thoughts about hiring a prostitute… At least, that was what he was going to tell Ray.

“I know you’ve probably got your dog, and I know you’re excited about it, but it’s late and I’ve got work tomorrow—today!—can’t this wait?” No ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’…it made Frank feel better about the rambling he began to do.

“No, no, no—no dog, um…I bought a person on accident,” he spat out, grimacing in confusion at the words he’d decided to say and suddenly thinking of a thousand better options than ‘I bought a person’. 

“You did what?” Ray asked, sleepy confusion in his voice. “Why? You just won five thousand bucks—you don’t need to pay someone to sleep with you. You do know prostitution is illegal, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t like that.”

“Frank, I’ve got work in five hours—I need to go to bed. Can’t you wait until later?”

“I bought a person to keep,” Frank mumbled out a word at a time, feeling guilty for a million things at once. Guilty for bringing Ray into this, guilty for keeping him awake, guilty for supporting the sex-trade, guilty for making the slave he bought take a bath it didn’t seem to want to take…

“You what?”

“I went to this bar that I didn’t know, and when I got in they were selling people,” Frank said rapidly. “And I felt bad because they were going to kill this one, so I bought him.”

“Him? Frank, that’s even worse. You can go to jail for this—no, you _will_ go to jail. Are you reporting this? What in the hell is wrong with you?”

“They were going to kill him!—and I can’t report it, those men will track me down and kill _me_!”

“What are you going to do with him? Let him go?”

“They’ll just pick him back up.”

“Frank, you cannot keep him! He’s not a dog!”

“I never said he was!” Frank shouted, catching his volume and listening to the sound of the shower and the falling water. 

“What are you going to do then?” Ray lost his anger as soon as he realized his friend really was thinking clearly—if only with his heart instead of his mind—and sympathized with his worry.

“I don’t know, Ray. I’m worried about this.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s taking a shower, he’s not listening in.”

“What does he think of this? Does he want to leave? He’s probably got family somewhere—”

“He doesn’t think, Ray,” Frank grunted out. “He wasn’t _trained_ to think. I can’t even get him to tell me his name let alone information about any family he might have.”

“Has he said _anything?_ ”

“Yeah…” Frank lay back on his bed, but kept an ear on the shower to hear if it clicked off or if it started sounding as if there was no one under the water.

“What’s he said?”

“He wants to go back to the guy I bought him from. He was with him for eight years. The guy sold him because he—uh—he said that he was possessive of him.”

“Wait, the guy you bought him from, or your new sex-slave was?”

“The one I bought!” Frank snapped. “He said the guy I bought was possessive and tried to keep everyone away from him, the master. And that you couldn’t get him to do drugs—which pissed everyone in that room off—and that he bites you if you try to stick anything in his mouth… And he’s…he’s got a tooth that’s going bad.”

“Wow…so that amounts to what? You’re not going to have to worry about him sneaking crack into your apartment?”

“I don’t know, but that’s a plus. He won’t start going through withdrawal…?”

“So what are you going to call him? You can’t just go walking down the street and say ‘hey, this is the guy I bought at a human auction’.”

“I’m not going to call him anything,” Frank mumbled. “His fake ID said Robert Casey, but I know that’s not his name.”

“Fake ID?”

“The guy gave it to me. I don’t know…I guess it’ll help me get him a dentist appointment.”

“He doesn’t have insurance, how are you going to pay for this?”

“I still have my money—he only cost five hundred and some because of all of the issues he has.”

“So is this going to become a hobby of yours? You’re gonna go over there every week and buy cheap sex slaves to fix up until you run out of money?”

“Ray! I did this on accident! I didn’t want him to end up dead! What would you have done?” He expected to hear Ray mutter that he wouldn’t have gone into a bar he didn’t know and start buying whores, but he didn’t.

“Probably the same thing, but you did it instead of me. You know you can’t just keep him, you’re going to have to tell the cops—they’re not going to arrest you if you tell them what you did and everything else they want to know. They might even put you in some protection program.”

“I don’t want to lose contact with the world, okay? I’m happy with where I am—I don’t want to lose my family!”

“Do you want to die?”

“Obviously not,” he growled. “But what if the cops just stick him in some psych ward or a halfway house? He’s…All he knows is sex and slavery—he’d just end up back on the streets. I don’t want him to end up worse off than he already is. I’ve got enough money that I can take care of him for a little while…”

“You can’t keep him—and you can’t keep this a secret. It’s illegal!”

“Ray, he doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

“The _police_ , Frank…” The shower stopped.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said abruptly.

“Me too. Call me later, okay? I need to talk some sense into you.”

“Okay. Bye.” Frank hung up and left him room returning to the living room and waiting outside of the bathroom. He didn’t know why he didn’t expect the man to come out immediately after finishing, towel busy with his hair and neglecting to cover anything else.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard knew it would get his new master flustered, that’s why he did it. He opened the door when he was still unclothed, and dried his hair with his towel instead of doing the decent thing and winding it around his waist. He pretended he didn’t see the massive blush consume his new keeper’s cheeks, acted as if he didn’t notice anything amiss in the world, and ultimately _failed_ at keeping back his small laugh when he did notice the embarrassment on his owner’s face.

“Shit, man,” Frank said, turning his back to him. 

“Night clothes?” Gerard asked, a laugh breaking through his voice and making him nervous. Laughing at your master was the very best way to get punished. Frank, however, appeared not to notice.

“I’ll get you something, just…just wait.” He fled the room, not looking back, and returned with an oversized T-shirt and pair of black boxers. He kept his head down when he handed them over, making Gerard laugh softly despite himself. 

This was no master…it wasn’t even a poor imitation of one.

“N-next time, just…um…Don’t walk around the house naked, okay? It’s weird for me.” Gerard couldn’t help it anymore, he just laughed. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the nauseating pain in his mouth…maybe he was just stressed out, but it was so damn funny. Slowly, almost nervously, Frank began to laugh too, shaking his head and returning to his bedroom so that he wouldn’t have to stand around and maybe be forced to watch as his…houseguest…got dressed. 

Gerard didn’t know what to make of this…but…but maybe he liked it a little. 

His laughter died as he thought of his old master, and how the man had looked close to tears when they’d parted. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t a master… This was different, and strange. He didn’t feel safe here, and he wanted to go home. He wanted his master to hurry up, realize his mistake, and come back for his pet… This wasn’t a joke—this was torture. They couldn’t live apart from each other. They belonged together.

Soon, his master would come back, and this strange, confusing place would be far behind him. Soon, he told him self. Soon, soon…


	3. Cry Out To You

Gerard wanted more than anything to wake up, but his body was so exhausted that he couldn’t jar himself back to consciousness through his fog of nightmarish memories. Everything was too vivid—too lucid of a dream—to ignore the slightest, most faded, smell, touch, or taste. 

He’d been fifteen, he’d been running through the smoky streets in a desperate hunt for the one man out here that he trusted. A drug dealer would never wrong you—you were worth too much money, right? Obviously not…

Minutes after reuniting with the man, he went with him into his apartment to buy another bag of cocaine that he needed more than any school counselor would ever know. There had been other men in the room, the famous living dead—men so strung out on drugs that they neglected to even look human. Their teeth were rotten, their skin was scarred and marked with acne, their eyes were bloodshot and unforgiving. Some of them were nothing but skin and bone.

He remembered eyeing one man in the corner of the room, thinking that the man in the nice jeans and the nicely layered jacket and t-shirt looked out of place—he looked like a police officer with his dark glasses and neatly trimmed beard and mustache. 

Gerard didn’t really get a chance to think much of the man, because his dealer offered to do a few lines with him for free. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse, so he sat beside his friend on the couch and leaned over the coffee table to inhale the strips of mind freeing whiteness. 

That had been the end of his life… The man in the corner grabbed him, drug him out to a black car, stuffed him in it and drove off with him down the road. Everything after that was torture—sex, pain, drugs, and terror. A system was set up. Pain, drugs, alcohol, pain, torture, drugs, alcohol, submission, pain, drugs…pain. So much pain. Gerard couldn’t stand dreaming of it.

Every day was the same thing. 

The man who had stolen him out of the dealer’s apartment had no real job—he just trained slaves and sold them. He made so much money off of each one that he had no need to go out to find a real job with taxes and regulations. He never had to leave—some woman brought groceries and drugs. 

He never had to let Gerard out of his sight.

There was no such thing as a chance for escape.

For three months his life had been hell, and every moment of it he wished he was home and that somehow he would have prevented this from happening. Prevented the sex training, the beatings, the forced drug consumption, the lessons in obedience and submission that always ended with his master’s disappointment and his pain.

Then, he’d been drug off to the auction house, and didn’t appear to be the only one terrified of what the future held. The buyers were awed by him, though, because he didn’t fight against his master when he was forced onto the brightly lit stage. All of the lights blinded him and made it impossible for him to make out a face in the room beyond—not that he wanted to see anyone he recognized there anyway, no matter how desperate he was to be let go.

His asking price had been eighteen thousand dollars, since he was a virgin—only trained by objects and fingers, nothing more. A casually dressed man bought him for sixteen grand because the silent slave was obviously damaged in one way or another if it wasn’t fighting to be free, pissing off the master who beat his slave backstage before the buyer arrived to hand over the money. Gerard had to have help getting back on his feet and staying on them. He clung to his new master, no longer caring what waited for him at his new keeper’s house so long as his former master was not around him anymore. 

Still, he cried when he got into his second master’s car, cried even harder when he made it to the house, screamed when he was carried inside of it and laid on the bed, then subsequently shut up once his back hit the mattress—the way he was trained.

“No more crying,” his master said. He sobbed one last time and then bit the rest back as he was stripped. He was asked if he’d _really_ never done this before, he nodded his head yes, but never spoke. The master kissed him, and then proceeded to take what he wanted with stunning gentleness. 

In the end, he broke his master’s first command by crying with relief the entire time his virginity was forcedly taken from him because it didn’t hurt like the objects his first master had used on him had. He wasn’t punished for crying, or for making a mess of the bed sheets, or for scratching his new master’s back—he could feel the skin split beneath his nails, even in his dreams…

He was never punished for things like that—not with this master. He was punished for simple things like begging—begging for cocaine, begging to be set free, begging for food…begging for love.

With time, his pleas for drugs disappeared, and he savored the clarity it gave him. He felt in control, even though he had no control of his life…With time, he adjusted to the lack of food and became satisfied with what he had. Slowly, he quit caring to go free because he loved his master more than anything—more than his mother, his father, and his brother. He loved this man, loved pleasing this man…this wonderful man…

“You don’t love me, Gerard,” his keeper said to him one day. “It’s just this thing doctors call Stockholm Syndrome—you think you love me because you don’t want me to kill you. And though you don’t think I can, I’ll kill you just as fast as I killed the last fucktoy I had. You mean nothing to me.” But that was a lie. Gerard knew it was a lie, because his master didn’t look at him when he said it. In fact, his master looked hurt at the thought that Gerard only loved him because he feared death.

His master loved him, he meant something to him… It wasn’t just a psychological technicality, Gerard loved his master. 

The memory of laying beside his master in bed soothed him and his rest became peaceful. He could feel his master’s arms around him—proving that his keeper had never sold him to someone else. He was still in his second master’s house, laying in his bed and making the two other whores jealous.

He was wonderfully safe…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank awoke to screaming, and lunged out of bed. Who was yelling? Why? What was happening in the apartment building? Was there a fire?

Then he remembered yesterday and recognized the voice.

He swore and sprinted the short distance to his guestroom/office in only his underwear to find his new housemate sat on the couch, shouting and staring at the bed sheets. The man looked as horrified as he sounded, and that fear only intensified when he laid eyes on Frank. At least then he went quiet. The sadness that overcame his face told Frank that his companion had been wishing the night before had been a dream, maybe even believing that it was until he opened his eyes and realized he didn’t recognize the room.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly whimpered, lowering his head and dropping back down on the couch, hiding himself from Frank’s vision by using the arm of the couch as a sort of shield. 

“It’s okay, Babe,” Frank said softly. “I’ll make us some breakfast.” He sighed, wondered if the neighbors had called the cops due to the shouting, and wandered back into his bedroom in search of actual clothes to put on. 

He grabbed a shirt from his closet and pulled it on, thinking that he’d wished he’d taken a shower last night since it was obviously too late to try to take one now, then wandered to his dresser where located a pair of jeans and socks. 

And then he had a heart attack when he turned his head and noticed his slave was standing in his doorway staring at him almost murderously.

“Shit,” he swore, zipping his pants as fast as he could and trying to get his heart to start beating again. “Everything okay?” He asked, at a loss for what else to say but knowing that was not in any way, shape, or form the correct question to ask. The glare he was getting grew darker. “What’s the matter?” Eyes narrowed more, to where the nameless man was just squinting at him. Something about the look made it funny, something about the intensity of it made Frank fear for his life. 

Especially when the man didn’t answer, just slid back in the direction of the guestroom. Frank sighed, stepped into his socks, and followed after him. 

“What’s the matter?” He asked, standing in the doorway of the room, but not entering. His guest stood with his back to him, shoulders rigid and angry. “Babe?”

“I’m not your _fucking_ babe!” The man shouted, his words followed immediately by a howl of pain. Frank sighed softly and stepped into the room, putting a consoling hand on his guest’s shoulder. It wasn’t shrugged away. “My mouth hurts,” he suddenly whimpered in a tone that begged Frank not to hit him.

“I’ll call the dentist, then,” Frank said quietly, taking his hand away. “After what just happened, though, there’s gotta be something you want to tell me. I know you’re angry…” He didn’t really know what to say to the man he’d somehow come into ownership of, but he did know better than to respond to the shouting with rage or silence. 

“I want to go home to my keeper,” the man stated bluntly enough. “He needs me.” Frank sighed and stepped out of the room. Sure, he could have argued and said that it was obvious that his former ‘owner’ did not want him, let alone _need_ him, but he kept his mouth shut. Saying that wouldn’t get him anywhere…

( ) ( ) ( )

Breakfast for Frank was a bowl of cereal and a really dirty look, breakfast for Gerard was a bowl of milk and a sigh. What part of “my mouth hurts” meant “please make me eat something hard and crunchy that becomes nauseatingly slimy when it sits too long”? It pissed him off…

Then his Frank—only Frank because this short, pathetic man was no master—disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door. Gerard could hear him talking on the phone, setting up an “emergency” dentist appointment for the next day. 

He sighed when he heard how long he’d have to wait. The pain seemed to have tripled over night, making him almost cry from the constant agony that he couldn’t escape. But it was just one day more, so he’d have to manage. It could be worse, he told himself. He could get no treatment at all…

He had to remind himself to be thankful—he could have been taken by a master who raped him on the first night and then ignored his afflicted tooth and the pain it caused. Frank, at least, was trying to help him…

It didn’t seem like that, though, when he forced him to put on clothes that didn’t fit right and to go out in public during the daylight hours. He hadn’t been outside in the daylight since…no...never. Not since he’d been picked up. It was dangerous for him to be outside—he could be recognized.

Then he realized that no one would be looking for him now. Not after being gone for so long. Every one he knew had probably given him up for dead… He guessed it didn’t matter. After a little pushing, he left the apartment and looked at the world with sunlight as it slid past the passenger side window of Frank’s car. It fascinated him, the way it would a tourist. 

He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he recognized some things and smiled a little, feeling like he could get home if he tried. Then he had to wonder if he meant home with his former master or home with his mother and father…

Suddenly, a pang of loneliness hit him. He missed them. He wondered how they were. He wondered, with a mounting terror, if his brother…what was his brother’s name?... …had met the same fate as himself… It bothered him that all he could come up with for his brother’s name was the letter M. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank was fed up with trying to shop with his guest within twenty minutes. He took him to buy clothes first, so the groceries wouldn’t spoil in the car. He’d tried to get the man engaged in the activity, but all he got in response was vacant looks and the occasional glare that seemed to say “if you try to put me in that shirt, I’m going to shove it down your throat when you’re asleep”. He managed to buy him several shirts, several pants, underwear, socks, a wristwatch that the man seemed absurdly fascinated with the rest of the shopping trip, and a pair of shoes.

He didn’t know if he would have it in him to go to the supermarket after that ordeal…especially since his guest wasn’t willing to eat anyway. So he decided he wouldn’t get food (except for two things of yogurt since he wasn’t going to rest until the man ate _something_ ), just a shit-ton of coffee, a coffee maker, drinks, over the counter pain killers, bath supplies, and the random notebook his guest tossed into the cart. 

That seemed to please his new companion. As they were getting back into the car, he swore that the man smiled at him briefly. It made him feel a little better, like the man knew he wasn’t trying to hurt him… 

( ) ( ) ( )

The supermarket scared him—it scared him so bad. There were more people than he cared to ever see in his life all crowded into one building. It reminded him of the auction house, he didn’t like it. He wanted to go back to the apartment and drown under the blankets on the couch Frank had given him to lay on. 

A thought flashed in his mind—hadn’t Frank offered to buy him a bed?—but he kicked it away because he’d rather have the couch. There was room enough only for him, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Frank didn’t buy any food—no, Gerard didn’t count yogurt as food—but he made the world become twenty times brighter when he grabbed up an expensive coffee maker and put it in the cart and forced Gerard to pick out a brand of coffee that he liked. The prospect of being allowed to have coffee when he got home just made him happy. Genuinely happy.

After experiencing how irritated Frank became when he’d refused to even entertain the idea of shopping for clothes, Gerard threw a notebook into the cart. Part of his reason for doing so was to see if he could get away with it. The other part was because he knew Frank wanted him to pick something out for himself besides the coffee.

Frank smiled at him, and Gerard tilted his head.

Hm, but his new keeper did have pretty eyes…friendly eyes.

Gerard found himself unwittingly smiling at the man when he got back into the car. He still missed his master, and he still loved his master, but he assumed that if he had to, he could get used to Frank…

( ) ( ) ( )

About the time Frank forced him to eat one of the yogurts, the pain in Gerard’s mouth reached an entirely new level in a matter of seconds. One moment he had been sitting comfortably in the recliner in Frank’s living room, watching the television and Frank both at the same time, listening to the coffee brew in the kitchen, and then he’d fallen forward onto the floor, one hand clasped to his mouth and the other supporting his weight. He screamed from the sudden pain and the terror of the head-splitting agony that didn’t waver in the slightest, the sound muffled by his hand only slightly.

“You okay? What’s the matter?” Frank was at his side, kneeling beside him and stroking his back softly. Gerard tried to escape into that contact, that gentle touch, but couldn’t. The ache just magnified to point that his vision started to turn white with each throb of pain. “Sweetheart?” Gerard cried out again as the pain shot another degree higher, closing his eyes tightly and lowering his head to the floor in some unconscious attempt to disappear. He whimpered loudly, and the pain bled away to a dull ache that was still too intense to ignore. “Honey?”

“Hurts,” Gerard whimpered out in the same voice he would have used if Frank had inflicted the pain and he wanted to beg him to stop. “Frank, please!” He cried out, not sure what he was asking—whether it was for death or a blow to the head to render him unconscious. He couldn’t believe he’d even gotten the words out—to speak his master’s name without having been told to by the man, without ever having the man tell him what his name was himself…to ask something of his master.

The pain shot through him again and he lunged forward, head almost smacking the floor before Frank caught him and pulled him back up into a gentle hug that he burrowed into.

“I’m sorry, Honey. I’m sorry—tomorrow morning and they’ll fix it, I promise. Okay? Are you going to be okay?” Frank was holding him tighter and Gerard began to tremble. The pain was subsiding for the moment, but he expected another wave—another shot of agony—any second. 

He didn’t bother with holding back his tears at that moment, the combined agony, terror, and uncertainty overwhelming him. It wasn’t just the pain in his mouth, it was the cut in his soul, too, and the twinge in his mind that asked if it was better here with Frank—safer here with him than he had been with his master. Frank was at least trying to fix the problem, and not because his slave’s cries of pain were irritating.

The sobs seemed to concern him… Seemed to move him…

Gerard burrowed down in Frank’s arms, pressing his head against his new keeper’s chest and beginning to wonder if the fit of pain was over. The ache was still there, still excruciatingly prominent, but the bolts of it seemed to have gone for the moment. He let his sobs dissipate into silent tears, only letting a whimper out when the throbbing started up again, only a shallow rendition of what it had been before.

That whimper seemed to be enough, though. He felt Frank begin to nuzzle his hair, heard the man sniff, and then felt his chest jerk with a sob. It startled him and he froze, waiting to see if Frank would push him away to disguise his sadness the way his former master used to. Masters don’t like you to see them weak…

Frank wasn’t like that, though. He just held Gerard tighter and caved in, crying softly in empathy of his pet’s agony. Gerard had never known sympathy like that—to have someone cry with him… _for_ him.

He liked it… He really liked it.


	4. Take All the Pain Away

Getting the man to the dentist had been about forty times easier than Frank had imagined. The only thing that put a damper on the mood was that his new companion seemed to be sulking about the little rule regarding drinking before going under anesthesia…and how you’re not supposed to do it. Frank couldn’t have been certain, but he thought he’d heard the man—strung out on ibuprofen—mumble about the cruelty of having the coffee “right there” and not being able to have it. 

His “friend” _Roger Casey_ , didn’t hold any of the nervousness or caution that he’d had when the two of them had gone to the clothing store and supermarket as they entered the dental clinic. Frank couldn’t tell if it was because his companion knew he needed to act like he was competent and accustomed to social situations when in the presence of professionals and doctors, or if it was because he was in so much pain that he didn’t give a shit anymore…or maybe it because there wasn’t as many people hovering around.

Perhaps it was a combination of them all.

“Roger Casey’s” lack of tolerance for physical contact proved itself to be prominent, however, when the dental assistant tried to do her job—the whole “clipping on of the paper bib” and the “bite down on these x-ray cards” seemed to make Frank’s companion wary. He kept looking at Frank for reassurance, making the assistant look at him with confusion that he couldn’t respond to without becoming even more suspicious. 

Then after all of the prepping was done and the assistant traded places with the actual dentist, his companion seemed to open up a little. He was no doubt driven by pain, of course, which the entirety of the conversation he and the dentist had was based on, but it didn’t change the fact that he seemed more alive than he had been while in the apartment. 

Of all of his words, though, the dentist seemed most intrigued by Frank’s companion’s answer to a single question. 

“On a scale of one to ten—one being bearable and ten being excruciating—how bad is the pain in the affected tooth?” Without hesitation or humor, the man answered.

“Twelve and a half—I’d rather take a hammer to the skull than go on with this for another day. So if you ask me to leave and come back next week, you’re going to be out of some money because I’m going to be in the city morgue.” The dentist forced out a laugh, looked at Frank as if to say “he’s really serious, isn’t he?” and Frank laughed along and shrugged, not sure how to answer. 

“Well, we’re here to fix this, so you won’t have to go to any extremes,” the dentist replied, and then started to attempt to explain the root canal he was about to do. He lost his patient’s attention after he mentioned numbing, and then immediately got it back when he said “injections”. 

“You’re gonna put me out, right?” He asked. “You won’t have me awake for that—I’ll be asleep, right? You can’t do that while I’m-I’m _aware_ , right? I mean, you’ve got the things here, the-the technology so I don’t have to be….right?” The dentist looked to Frank and then back to his anxious patient.

“We have anesthesia, yes. You don’t have to worry. As it’s happening, you won’t feel a thing.” Frank had to say that the man did not look convinced. 

( ) ( ) ( )

“How will he be paying today?” the receptionist asked. “Is there any insurance we should report to?”

“No,” Frank answered. “No insurance. I’ll be paying.” The woman behind the desk looked at her computer screen and typed on it almost absently. The whole time she spoke, she never once took her eyes from the screen.

“Okay, so you’ll be paying for the root canal, the porcelain dental crown, the fee for the anesthesia, and for the emergency appointment fee…?” Frank paused to let her add on any other fees or expenditures she may have had up her sleeve—an anxiety ridden sex-slave tax, perhaps, or a ‘he’s not who he says he is’ fee…

“Yeah, sounds right,” Frank mumbled.

“And will you be paying cash or credit this morning?—as of the eighth of last month we no longer accept personal checks—” God he loved how wide her eyes got when he said he’d be paying in cash. “Would you like to make monthly payments with interest on that—your total would be $1,526.43?”

“No, I’ll pay in full.” And yet again her eyes doubled in size as he pulled out his wallet and the sixteen slips of paper he would need. “I—uh—went to the ATM earlier. I don’t want to have to pay interest.” He handed over the money and she watched him with skeptical eyes as she took out her pen—the one that made sure cash was legitimate—and he understood her completely. People like him shouldn’t have sixteen hundred dollars in their bank accounts, let alone their wallets.

“You can have a seat over there until the procedure is done. We’ll call you up.” She closed her little glass window hastily, even though all of the money made it through her marker’s inspection, and then waited until Frank had sat down across the lobby before getting on her phone.

She was probably calling the police, checking to see if a short, tattooed high-schoolish aged punk was suspected of any robberies—named Frank Iero. Any warrants out for his arrest? He was there at the dental clinic with a Mr. Roger Casey…

Yeah, he could read fucking lips.

Her conversation ended with a burst of laughter, cheery laughter, the kind that said “oh, I thought he was some sort of serial killer, but it turns out he’s the guy that won the lottery at the corner store!”…

( ) ( ) ( )

The first thing Frank heard was “bad reaction”. He may have heard “accidental high dose”, but all he registered was “bad”, which meant something was wrong and that he wanted to get his ass in that little room and see what was happening to the man that he’d come to own.

“Wait—wait, but he’s okay though, right?” He managed to ask when the dentist kept blocking his view into the room. “He’s not still out of it or—”

“He’s _fine_ ,” the dentist insisted in a calming, irritatingly placid voice. “He’s just really dizzy and really nauseas at the moment. We just want to give him a little more time to sit still and let the room stop spinning before we get him into your car.” A little more time turned into fifteen minutes of discussion…and even that wasn’t enough time for his friend to be able to stand on his own or even sit up in the car. 

No, the man preferred to lie down across the back seat and play dead. Frank let him. What else could he do except for prop him against the door and command him to stay? 

( ) ( ) ( )

“Frank?” The man, still nameless to Frank, whimpered from the couch in Frank’s office. He’d been home for over an hour, and the chemicals still hadn’t seemed to wear off “Frank, I don’t feel so good…”

“Well, when you start to, tell me so I can give you something to eat,” Frank mumbled as he returned to the doorway of the guest room. He’d been watching television—the news—hoping that he wouldn’t see his name or face anywhere, or anything involving human trafficking or prostitution. So far, he’d been fortunate.

“No…No food.” Frank sighed and leaned his forehead against the doorframe.

“Sweetie, you gotta eat something or you’re going to die.” It was blunt, but it seemed to have some kind of affect on his guest.

“Fine…bring me something.”

“What do you want?” Frank asked, perking up a little and trying not to wonder if the man was only making an effort because he thought he was being ordered to eat, not because he wanted to or felt that he was capable of doing it.

“Coffee?”

“To _eat_ ,” Frank groaned, keeping anger out of his voice, but unable to hold back the frustration.

“Can I have the coffee and then think of something to eat while I drink it?” The man finally rolled over from where he’d buried himself against the back of the couch, curled into the blankets and pillows, and gave Frank a hopeful look that he couldn’t refuse.

“How about this—I’ll start a pot of coffee, but you won’t get a drop of it until you tell me something you want to eat.” The man’s eyes lowered for a moment—mostly, Frank thought, because the man thought he was going to say ‘I’ll make a pot of coffee, but you won’t get a drop’ and leave it at that.

“Do you have bread?” The man asked, almost nervously. 

“Yes, I do.” He didn’t think a slice of bread qualified as a meal, but it was better than nothing, so he kept judgment out of his voice.

“Any sugar?” Frank had to think, but then nodded. There was some…somewhere in his cupboard. “When you make my coffee, can you bring it in a mug?”

“Yeah…” Frank had no idea where he was going with this.

“And then, bring me a piece of bread in a bowl? With some sugar on it? And a fork?...well, how about a spoon? A spoon?”

“How much sugar is some?” Frank asked, thinking that he knew where this was going and also deciding that it sounded disgusting. There was nothing worse to eat on the planet than soggy bread—no matter if it was drenched in water or bitter coffee and sugar.

“Um…enough to make a layer on top of the bread? I’m going to take a nap…you get that for me?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he returned to being burrowed down in the blankets and pillows. Frank smiled and then chuckled softly before going into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and to get what his guest had asked for. It pleased him that the man seemed to trust him more now—even if it was just the pain, the stress, and the narcotics talking… Somewhere in his heart, Frank didn’t think that it was impossible for the man to have realized on his own that he meant him no harm, that he knew Frank would never hurt him like his other masters had.

( ) ( ) ( )

He took a bite of the coffee, sugar, and bread sludge that he’d concocted, wondering if he should be in pain and if he would be any time soon. At the moment, he had all of the feeling back in his face, but none of the pain he’d had before… Well, there was a little, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. The food felt gross in his mouth, but he ate it regardless, no longer able to use pain to block out the sick feeling of hunger. 

“Frank?” Gerard said softly.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Frank asked with a sigh, sitting down on the floor by Gerard’s feet. It made him uncomfortable to have the master at his feet—even if this was hardly a master at all.

“Why did you buy me if you don’t want me?” Frank wasn’t going to touch him anytime soon, he’d come to that conclusion when the man didn’t try anything on him while he was too drugged up to fight back. Living without the contact was just becoming strange to him, even if the pain he’d experienced yesterday gave his new master an excuse to let him be.

“Honey,” Frank said softly, touching Gerard’s hand in a way that he actually liked. His other master never touched him like that—like a _friend_ would. “Will you listen if I try to tell you something? Will you try to believe me?” Of course Gerard nodded. “Really,” Frank said, as if knowing he’d only answered yes because he was supposed to. Once again, Gerard nodded, still not because he had a choice. “Look, I didn’t go to that place to buy someone—it was an accident.” That wasn’t an uncommon story. Men go to window shop, get taken aback by what they see, and fall into the game and buy. “I was looking for a bar—somewhere where they wouldn’t card me and find out I’m not old enough to drink. I thought that was a bar.” Gerard looked away then, unable to look someone in the eye when he was being lied to… Even if it was by the nicest master he’d probably ever have. “I did! I thought it was a bar, and when I got in I knew that if I tried to turn around and leave—”

“You’d end up in the sale,” Gerard finished, locking their eyes again. “They’d make quick work of you,” he added on without thinking, as if speaking a threat. He took a drink of coffee then, as if to hide inside the cup.

“Well, either that or they’d kill me. I wanted to get out alive—you can’t blame me, can you?” Gerard shook his head no. “I felt bad for you. I didn’t want them to kill you. I bought you so they wouldn’t kill you—I’m just a normal guy, alright? I’m not like them or your master.”

“What does that mean?” Gerard asked, taking more to eat and swallowing ravenously, suddenly becoming afraid that Frank may take the food from him so he’d ‘listen better’.

“It means that I didn’t plan any of this,” Frank said, sounding unsure. “That I don’t want to treat you like you’re something I own, and that you shouldn’t treat me like I’m any different than you. I’m just a person, not a master. You don’t have to do everything I say or wait until I tell you that you can do something that you want to.” Gerard didn’t answer him, he just made sure that he finished eating. “Honey?” Gerard contemplated telling him that he wasn’t his ‘Honey’ either, but just groaned instead. “I’m not going to do those things to you. I didn’t bring you here for that.” Gerard knew what things Frank was talking about, but suddenly he didn’t know what he was in the apartment for. Surly not just to eat and sleep. 

“Why then?” Gerard asked, setting his empty bowl away on the floor and finishing off his cup of coffee.

“I want to get you better so that you can go home.” It was as if the world stopped then. Home? What was home? Where was home? With his master? With his _other_ master? With his parents? He didn’t want to go there. They wouldn’t want him there—want someone used up and disgusting like him. Someone who couldn’t even remember their names let alone their faces.

“I don’t want to go home,” he said quietly. “They don’t want me there.”

“Why do you think that?” Frank asked, his tone obviously infected by his own suspicions. Gerard didn’t want to answer because he knew Frank would just try to say his words ‘weren’t true’ or try to convince him to believe otherwise. “Did they tell you that before?” He asked tentatively. 

“No,” Gerard mumbled back.

“Did they throw you out? Is that how you ended up in this?” Gerard shook his head more firmly than he’d wanted.

“No. They’re not like that.” Somehow he’d known that refusing to speak on that subject would lead Frank to attempt to discuss another.

“How did you get caught in this?” Gerard didn’t know if Frank was asking because he was just curious about how the whole process worked, or if he just wanted to know Gerard better.

“Drugs,” Gerard answered, vaguely but still very bluntly. “Coffee?” It took Frank a moment, but he soon realized the discussion was over and stood up from the floor to take and refill Gerard’s cup. Gerard watched him go, thinking about how easy it would be to overtake this man and make him his slave if he wanted.

But, alas, Gerard wasn’t that cold.


	5. Broken and Defeated

Gerard stirred, his brain telling him to block out the sound and the touch on his shoulder and curl back into his fortress of pillows and blankets and go back to sleep. When the touch came again, a slow caress from his shoulder down his heavily concealed back to his hip, followed by a soft whisper, Gerard snapped to full consciousness and sat up immediately. His master wanted him awake—there was no time to sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, expecting a hard blow to the head for his selfish indulgence. 

“It’s okay—here.” Gerard found a cup of coffee being pushed into his hands and accepted it obediently. “How are you feeling? Do you need any pills or anything?” Gerard twisted his head so he could see who was talking to him—still not used to waking up on a couch, in an apartment, or with Frank…

“I’m okay,” he mumbled in response, taking a sip of the coffee and sighing in content. He supposed he _could_ get used to it if he really had to… no slaps to the back of the head, no yelling, no punishment for losing his temper. Just warm coffee in the mornings and gentle master to keep him company throughout the day. 

He couldn’t help it. Frank sat down beside him and he leaned over and kissed him. It was gentle, nothing demanding or intimate—just a pet’s way of saying it trusted its master not to hurt it.

Frank just grimaced and turned his face away, making Gerard attempt to drown in his cup in a poor attempt to hide from the disallowed action. He couldn’t help that it was peaceful for him here—that he felt so safe and warm that he wanted to show his appreciation. 

“Um—I’ve gotta go to work today, so you’re going to have the house to yourself until I get back, okay?” Gerard didn’t like being talked to like a child, but at the same time he wondered how he’d forgotten to think about what type of career this man must have…and why he hadn’t been doing that job during the duration of his stay… “So you’ll have the house to yourself—take a shower, watch some TV, write something, draw…get yourself something to eat, whatever you want to do just go ahead and do it.” Gerard glanced at Frank, took in the slightly nervous expression on his face, and nodded before turning his eyes back to the floor. “Make as much coffee as you want, too. It’s yours.” Gerard took another drink and wondered why Frank thought he could buy his affection with coffee…

“When do you come home?” He asked softly.

“At about four—Wednesdays I work six-thirty to four.” Gerard nodded, but didn’t ask where he worked or what he did. It wasn’t his job to know, it was his job to get this mess of an apartment cleaned before his master’s work was finished and he returned home. “I just thought I’d tell you before I left so you wouldn’t wake up and think I…well, left.”

“What am I allowed to eat?” Gerard asked, seeing if he could get away with it. In a way, he wanted Frank to lose his temper and beat him so he’d have a reason to talk himself out of trusting this new master.

“Anything you want to—any _food_ you want to…not, like, the carpet or anything.” Gerard smiled around the rim of his cup and took another sip of coffee, feeling himself becoming more alert and alive. Without the mind-numbing pain in his mouth, his world just seemed so much better, even if his former master and love of his life was no longer in it. “You can drink whatever you want, too. Coffee, water…I’ve got some soda. We’ll go out shopping again after I get home from work.” Gerard stiffened. Not _that_ again. “Since you’re feeling better, we can get you things to eat that you’ll like.”

“I eat what you like,” Gerard replied instantly, finishing his coffee but still holding the cup to his mouth until Frank took it away from him. 

“You’re still going to help me pick stuff out.”

“I don’t want to go,” Gerard answered, looking away towards the wall. The clock there said it was half past five, and Frank was already showered and dressed. When had he gotten up?

“Well, you’re going,” Frank answered. Gerard was surprised by his bluntness and force. “I have to go now, though, or else I’ll be late for work. You can go back to sleep if you want.” Gerard glanced at the clock one last time and then back at Frank. “Or stay awake—how do you drink this so fast?” He looked at the cup in his hand and stood up, and Gerard followed him with his eyes. Frank disappeared for a moment and came back with the cup refilled. Gerard accepted it, even though he no longer had any desire for it. It was five thirty in the morning. He wanted to go back to bed. His other master never got up before seven. “If anyone comes to the door, just don’t answer, okay? I don’t want someone to come in and hurt you.”

“I don’t answer doors,” Gerard repeated. “And I don’t answer phones.” Frank nodded and then cleared his throat. 

“Well, I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Four O’clock,” Gerard mimicked, stating that he’d been listening before.

“The house is yours until then. Do whatever you want, just don’t throw a party unless I’m home.” Gerard tilted his head at the joke, warmed a little by his master’s awkward smile. The man was trying too hard to please him. It was cute, having someone try to please _him._ Maybe he could make a slave of this man…but why should he? He didn’t have it in him to beat someone, and he’d already seen Frank cry so there was no mystery surrounding the man’s vulnerability. 

Was it good to feel sad that he could never be a good master?...Gerard didn’t know, but he knew he lacked the cruelty to train a human being the way he had been trained by his first master, he guessed it was in his best interest to leave Frank alone.

“If you do need me, though, I left a number on the counter in the kitchen where you can reach me.” Gerard nodded and looked at Frank with intentionally innocent eyes. The man seemed to want something he could take care of—something helpless to look after. He could play that role, if it was what Frank wanted. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank came home not sure of what to expect—was his companion still there? Still alive? Still feeling okay? Had he eaten? Had he gotten sick?—but nothing prepared him to come home to find his apartment cleaned. The clothes in his room had been picked up, his dishes were done, his floors had been vacuumed, his bathroom had been cleaned…he didn’t like this. He liked the clean, yes, very much, but not the fact that his guest had spent the whole day doing it…or that the man apologized because he hadn’t gotten to the kitchen yet apart from the dishes and the sink—but he’d have it done in an hour or two if Frank would just give him the chance.

Frank made his guest sit down on the couch in the living room and stay there a moment, feeling worse and worse by the second as his new companion began to look sadder and sadder. 

“I promise it will only take an hour or two to finish—I would’ve had it done, but I took longer on the bathroom than I thought and—”

“It’s fine, sweetie—you didn’t have to do this for me, but thank you.” After calming himself down a little, reminding himself there was no reason to panic over a few scrubbed dishes, some picked up clothes, several vacuumed floors…a completely spotless bathroom… Oh, yes there was—he shouldn’t have been doing those things, he should’ve been resting and watching television, eating the untouched food in the fridge or finishing off the pot of coffee left over from that morning. “I’m going to use the bathroom, then we’re going to go shopping, okay?” The man made a noise of discomfort and then sighed. Again, Frank had to remind himself that his guest wasn’t used to going out.

( ) ( ) ( )

Stores… Gerard hated stores. So many people rushing past, pushing past, tripping past—so many things being sold, being bought, being scrutinized, being picked up and put back, misplaced and stolen. So many people looking right at him and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be there—knowing he belonged in a bed, stripped, bound and used. Knowing he deserved it for getting involved with the drugs in the first place—for drinking underage and starting to use cocaine and continuing to do it even though his mother had literally _collapsed_ into tears when she found out. 

It was like all of the women he passed in this store could see into his soul and view his life that day, could hear her crying. They all looked at him so accusingly, and Frank didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t hear them as they repeated her words when they rushed by.

“He’s gone!” She’d cried, over and over—it was one phrase of many that she’d latched onto. He wondered if she’d said the same thing when he didn’t come home. Then he began to wonder if one of the women who rushed past him with her purse held to her tightly was his mom. Would she recognize him if she saw him? Probably not…

He began to cling on to Frank, knowing that this was the only person alive now who cared about his wellbeing. His family had probably given him up for dead by now…and if not, well, who would want back a son that had only been known to them as a juvenile drug addict or who had become a worthless sex object? For them, he was better off dead. He did more good for them in the bottom of a dumpster with his guts split open…

( ) ( ) ( )

“What’s the matter, Honey?” Frank asked when his companion literally grabbed onto his arm and held it. They’d started down the salad dressing aisle, because they were aiming for every aisle that held food in the supermarket, but the intensity of the contact—and the fact that there was no one around to run them over—made Frank stop and wait for an answer. He didn’t get one. “Is your tooth hurting again?” Still, no response. Frank waited another moment, but then gave up and began walking again, only slower, trying to think of what could have happened. 

Had he seen someone he knew? Heard something he didn’t like? 

“I wish you’d just talk to me, Babe. No one in the store is going to care what you say except for me…” All at once, the man stopped walking and pulled his hand away. Frank looked at him in alarm, realizing he’d said the name that his companion seemed to hate. Babe, he wasn’t Frank’s ‘fucking’ Babe. “I’m sorry,” he started instantly. “It just slipped out—I know you don’t like being called tha—” He was silenced when a glass bottle was forced into his hand. It was an eight dollar bottle of salad dressing. “Girard’s” vinaigrette. 

Frank started to put it in the cart, wondering what about it had caught his companion’s eye over all of the other brands and bottles, but the man grabbed his hand and stopped him.

“What?” Frank asked, looking into those peculiar hazel eyes that were both murky and clear all in the same moment. The man looked nervous, with the usual sadness clouding his vision. 

Frank looked over the bottle again, but saw nothing that warranted further examination. Just a glass, triangular bottle of balsamic vinaigrette…particularly of the expensive “Girard’s” label. He started to wonder if the man was conscious of the price, but still wanted the dressing. 

“You can have it if you want it—I don’t care how much it costs, you know?” Again, he attempted to put it in the cart amongst the few other things, but the man pulled it out of his grasp and held it securely. “ _What?_ ” Frank asked, beginning to lose his temper.

The man tapped at the black and gold label and Frank examined it again. He was so at a loss it wasn’t even funny.

“You want…balsamic salad?” He asked in a negative tone, so certain that his suggestion was wrong that he didn’t even know why he’d asked. “Sweetie, I wished you’d just—” The man made a sound like a whine and tapped the label again. “Yes, _Girard’s_ Balsamic, I see it. It’s a good brand.” The man shook his head and held the bottle out a little closer to Frank, tapping the gold letters and then covering part of it with his fingertip so it only said ‘Girard’. 

Frank snapped his eyes up and locked them with his companion’s again. He looked hopeful, wishing Frank understood him so he wouldn’t have to speak.

“Girard?” Frank repeated. The man nodded, looking timid. “Girard. That’s your name, isn’t it?” A woman rushed past them and stole his companion’s attention for a moment until she’d gotten what she’d wanted and left the aisle. 

“Gerard,” the man said, correction the pronunciation.

“Gerard,” Frank repeated, smiling softly. The man nodded and attempted to smile back, but lost the will and set the bottle back on the shelf loudly, seeming to startle himself with the noise. He rushed ahead a little, stopping at the end of the aisle and waiting for Frank to catch up. 

He seemed to have lost part of himself when he gave up his name, and Frank wanted to know why. He wanted to know more… Who had taken him all those years ago? What had they done to him that made him so fearful that he wouldn’t even greet a person by telling them his name? Those questions, however, just seemed to be the very worst things to ask.

Why make him relive his nightmares? The answer to most of his inquiries was simple—pain. Why didn’t he speak much? Because when he used to he’d be rewarded with pain. Why didn’t he trust? Because those he trusted gave him pain. How had they gotten him to do all of the awful, sick things they must have done to him? Through pain.

When he caught up to his companion—his Gerard—he put a gentle hand on his shoulder and then ran it down his arm to his hand, offering to hold it but not wounded when Gerard pulled away. 

The world was a sick place. Who could hurt someone like this? …Who would want to _make_ someone like this?

( ) ( ) ( )

His companion—Gerard, Frank reminded himself—Gerard wouldn’t let him help put the groceries away. He kept insisting that he be allowed to do it himself, even though he had no idea where anything went. Frank gave him credit for trying, and while he was distracted, he crept into his office—the room that also served as his guest’s bedroom—and started his computer, constantly looking over his shoulder as if about to be caught by the slave who wouldn’t ask him what he was doing if his life depended on it.

As quickly as he could, he started researching, punching the name “Gerard” and “missing person” and the date of eight years past into the first search engine he could access. He struck gold right away—the first link (after all the advertisements for ‘missing friends’ and ‘reconnect with lost friends’) was an online newspaper flier—a “Have You Seen Me” ad for “Gerard Way”, age fifteen, of New Jersey. There was an age progression of his photo, but it looked nothing like the Gerard that Frank had now. His Gerard’s hair was longer and his face was thinner and his eyes were bleaker… There was no doubt, though, that these two were the same. 

Keeping an ear trained on the kitchen where food packages rustled and cabinet doors slammed, Frank dug deeper, finding parents’ names, a younger brother’s name, even a home phone number. On accident, he found a photo of them—the family before the oldest son disappeared. He didn’t like looking at them. Knowing their names and seeing their faces were two separate things. Every second he was keeping Gerard to himself was another second that the poor man and woman in the photos went without knowing whether or not their child was still alive.

All the same, something in his chest told him not to call the number at the bottom of his screen to tell them what he’d found out. It just felt wrong…it just felt—

“Frank?” Frank lurched forward in his seat and nearly smacked into the computer screen as he tried to conceal it. Gerard stood in the doorway of the room, head tilted and a box of something in his hand. “Master, can I eat these?”

“I’m not your master,” Frank mumbled, turning off the computer’s monitor and then turning off the machine all together. “I’m going to make dinner in a few minutes, but you can have those if you want. Just save some for me.” Gerard nodded, but didn’t leave the doorway. “What’s the matter?”

“I really like you. So you don’t have to hide things from me.” Frank struggled to find an answer to that, but it came too late since Gerard had already disappeared from the doorway and had retreated into the kitchen. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Right in the middle of dinner, someone knocked on the door which set Frank on edge and made Gerard blatantly panic. The only time Frank had felt sorrier for him than he did at that moment had been while he was on stage being sold. He looked scared to death, and the looks he kept sending Frank in between glances at the door asked a thousand questions. Who was there? Why? Was the person here for him? What was going to happen to him? What had he done wrong? Why was he being sold again? 

“Just finish eating,” Frank said softly as he got up from the table and crossed into the living room to open the door. He leaned up to peer out the tiny glass peep-hole to see into the hallway, sighed, and then unlocked the door. He didn’t give his guest a chance to come in when he opened it. Instead, he forced his way out. “What are you doing here?” He snapped.

Ray stared at him in judgmental confusion, almost a form of skepticism. 

“You never called me back, and you wouldn’t answer when I called you. I just came to see if you took care of it, but as I can tell that you didn’t.”

“Take care of it?” Frank spat, anger not meant for Ray seeping into his words. “He’s not a problem that needs taken care of! He’s a person.” His voice was low so the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but still harsh.

“Frank, did you call the police yet?” 

“No,” Frank hissed. “I just want him to feel better first, okay? You know, unwind a little? He’s stressed to the breaking point—I don’t want to upset him anymore.”

“Did you get a name?”

“It’s Gerard,” Frank answered, looking past Ray and down the empty hallway. “His name’s Gerard. I looked him up. His family seems pretty clean-cut.”

“Good. So you shouldn’t have to worry about sending him home to them.” Frank didn’t answer, just looked at Ray and shrugged. “Can I see him?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea at all,” Frank responded instantly.

“Frank, you’re treating me like some criminal, do you realize that at all? I get that you’re paranoid right now, but if I was going to start making trouble for you over this I would’ve done it already.”

“He’s shy,” Frank mumbled, reminding himself that this _was_ Ray, his friend. The one he’d _chosen_ to get involved. “Just give me a minute, okay? Wait here. I’ll see if he’s willing to see anyone.”

“If he doesn’t want to you don’t have to try to convince him,” Ray said as Frank moved to go back inside, almost as if having a change of heart. It was then that Frank realized Ray was just curious, just intrigued about what kind of person this man was that Frank had picked up. Probably just wanting to help him get better, too. 

“Just give me a minute,” Frank said, slipping back inside and closing the door. He looked back towards the kitchen where Gerard was, picking at food on his plate and staring in Frank’s direction worriedly. “Gerard, are you feeling up to meeting anyone?” Frank asked him as he walked cautiously back into the kitchen. Gerard looked at him as if waiting for Frank to answer the question for him. “My friend’s here. He wants to meet you.”

“He?” Gerard repeated, his eyes showing that he attached meanings to those words that Frank understood too well. He looked scared and untrusting. 

“Sweetheart, he’s not here to do anything to you, okay? I wouldn’t let him touch you, and he’s not like that.” Gerard looked down at his half empty plate and sighed. “It’s okay to say no if you’re not feeling up to it. He’ll understand—”

“He’s your friend, and it’s your apartment. I don’t have a say.” He set down his fork and leaned back in his seat. Frank had trouble convincing himself that Gerard wasn’t pouting.

“I’ll just tell him to go. I’ll go to his place later.”

“You’re going to leave again?” Gerard asked, looking at him almost nervously. Frank wondered how often it was that the man had actually been left completely _alone_ the way he had been earlier that day. His former master had mentioned owning other whores—no doubt providing companionship whether Gerard had wanted it or not those days. Even if he was jealous of those other unfortunates, he had to have gotten used to the company. 

“Ray wants to talk to me,” Frank said, trying to understand why he was letting himself become so manipulative to the poor creature that wouldn’t deny him anything. 

“I’ll meet Ray—just don’t go. I don’t like being here by myself. The neighbors yell.” Frank sighed, suddenly wondering what he was going to do with the man he couldn’t possibly take to work with him or leave home alone since it seemed to traumatize him. “Please don’t leave.” He could feel Gerard’s worried eyes burring into his back as he walked towards the door again to let Ray inside.

“Just try to be calm, okay?” Frank said, turning to look at him before opening the door. “He won’t hurt you. He’s a good guy.” Gerard nodded and then watched with horror and anticipation as Frank opened the door. 

“Wait!” Frank heard Ray sigh loudly as the door was closed again. “He’s not…not a master is he?” Frank shook his head and his companion seemed to be a little relieved. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, and then turned his face away as Ray was let inside.

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray didn’t think his heart could have melted anymore than it had then, even if he was coming to view the puppy Frank had been supposed to buy instead of a human. It wasn’t that he felt like he was in love with the shaking, terrified man hunched over Frank’s kitchen table, he just felt so much pity for him that he could hardly stand it.

He finally saw what Frank had seen the day he’d lost his mind and purchased the poor slave. The man was pathetic…helpless-looking. When it looked at him, Ray dissolved under the bleary, hazel-eyed gaze. Gerard’s eyes were so deep. Ray could see every strand of pain, fear, and distrust in between the rushes of brown and green.

“Hey,” was all Ray could think to say to him as he neared the doorway of the kitchen. Gerard leaned back in his seat and passed a very wary glance to Frank who looked at him sympathetically but didn’t speak. Gerard squirmed uncomfortably in the chair and glanced at the table briefly before looking back up between black bangs. He looked as if he was being forced to look up, like he wanted to hide but wasn’t allowed. It made Ray feel guilty for coming over. “Um…so you get along with Frank?” He asked randomly, forcing on a laugh because there was no situation in his life that he could remember being this awkward.

“I-I…” Gerard turned to look at Frank urgently, as if expecting to have the correct response fed to him. When Frank didn’t say anything, Gerard turned back to Ray looking horrified and closer to tears than ever. “I…I—Frank…I…Frank?” He looked back to Frank again, and this time Frank went to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder before passing Ray an exhausted expression.

Yeah, he could see why Frank didn’t want to toss him to the authorities just yet. If they tried to ask him a question, he’d look to Frank for an answer, and if Frank wasn’t there to tell him what to do, who knew what would happen?

“It’s okay,” Frank said softly. “Just calm down. You can talk to him.” Gerard didn’t look convinced, he looked traumatized. 

“H-He should, uh—he should…you should give him something to eat if he c-came over during dinner.” Gerard practically fell out of his seat trying to stand up to get a plate ready. 

“That’s—that’s okay,” Ray called, not wanting the man to move since every step he took threatened to knock him off balance. Gerard began to scrape what was left in the pot on the stovetop onto a plate, his entire form shaking with nerves. “I already ate,” he called nervously, just wanting the man to stop before he dropped the plate and hurt himself with the pieces. There was no way he could hold it with hands shaking that bad. “Besides, Frank’s not that good of a cook anyway, right?” He forced out a laugh and what he’d feared happened. The plate made it to the floor and successfully broke, but it almost looked deliberate.

Gerard’s eyes were on him, narrowed into slits that leaked venom. 

Ray stumbled, trying to think of what he’d said wrong. After a moment it was obvious—he’d spoken against this guy’s “master”, the person he was wholly devoted to whether he wanted to be or not.

“Maybe you should go home then,” the man said darkly. Even Frank looked taken aback—in fact, he looked like the shock had robbed him of all his words.

“Sweetheart,” Frank managed to spit out after his new housemate had taken on the vicious, attack dog persona. Instantly, Gerard’s face softened and he turned his head to look at Frank so innocently it was almost nauseating. “It was just a joke, Honey.” Frank touched his shoulder gently, making Gerard flinch and look down at the mess he’d made which caused him to burst into tears while crying out an apology.

Ray backed up, away from the scene and the seemingly forced tears. Maybe Frank fell for them, but Ray didn’t. There was still too much hostility in the eyes that jolted towards him every few seconds—a look that seemed to say “yeah, you’d better run”. 

He told Frank that he was going to leave, but he didn’t think Frank heard him over the whimpers of his pet. Just as he opened the door to the apartment, Gerard locked eyes with him again. 

God, the black-haired man looked so pleased. 

What was it Frank had told him over the phone about this guy? That his former master had gotten rid of him because he was possessive? Yeah, Ray could believe that…he just hoped that Frank would, too, before the man got carried away and took his possessiveness too far.


	6. Down and Out

When Frank left, he told Gerard not to clean anything, just to stay inside and relax—watch TV, draw, write…anything other than housework. So, naturally, Gerard obeyed and moved into the living area to watch television halfheartedly. There was not going to be anything on that he wanted to watch, he knew that already, but if it pleased Frank he thought it couldn’t hurt to try to find _something_ mildly entertaining.

Soap operas were on, but he found no interest in any of them. A movie was on about a woman running from an abusive lover, but that interested him no more than the soaps. Unsolved murders were on…judge shows…cop shows…lawyer shows…baby shows…kid shows…really long commercials and advertisement shows…animal shows…“reality shows”.

Gerard sighed loudly and turned off the television. 

There was nothing for him to do here, no one he could even talk to during the hours he waited for his master’s return. It was lonely, and too quiet. He almost wished the neighbors would start fighting again just to have some noise from real, live people—not prerecorded ones. It would be great if there was something he could interact with. Another whore, another person, a parrot, a dog…anything. 

When he wasn’t cleaning, busying his mind by making everything perfect and choking his senses with fumes, he had to think. His mind raced from one thought to another, from one realization to a different memory.

He didn’t want to remember things; his thoughts just made him sad. 

If it wasn’t his other master that he pined for, it was his parents—and that was even worse. When he’d been with his last master he could go an easy four months without even thinking about them—Frank had forced them to become one of the top things on his mind. There were so many more questions surrounding them than there were around his other master.

His master knew what his fate was supposed to have been—forced sex and imminent death—his parents, however, couldn’t possibly have known what had become of him. Did they think he was dead? Did they wish he was dead for one reason or another—because that meant he wasn’t suffering, or because he’d just been a burden to them anyway? Would they want him back? Were they still hoping to find him someday? Had they given up?

Were _they_ still alive? 

He wanted to know. Gerard really wanted to know, even if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see them again. 

He liked it here with Frank…he didn’t want to leave the safe, warm place. 

To Gerard, that realization seemed dangerous. He didn’t want to leave Frank…but what about his other master? He still missed him, still felt love for him, so why didn’t he want to go back to him? Back to what he knew and was familiar with?

He didn’t want to think that he was running away from the pain his master used to inflict on him—that was all pain he _deserved_ , punishments and corrections—but he had a feeling it was true. Though he missed his master, and having someone he could please with his housework and his affection, he didn’t miss getting yelled at for whatever piece of work he’d missed in the house, or the slaps to the face when he spoke out of turn or simply said something his keeper didn’t like. He didn’t miss being thrown on the bed and taken so roughly he nearly fainted from the pain…didn’t miss having his tongue bitten if he kissed too deeply, or his entire body beaten if he didn’t open his mouth to let his keeper’s dick inside. 

Eight years, Gerard thought, only four blow jobs—three ending with someone getting bitten. His master had tried to get him to do it hundreds of times—seemingly all of the time—and whenever he refused he would be beaten. Had he really been beaten over a hundred times by the man he loved? Struck at least a thousand? …and how many times had he been coerced into making love to him? Usually once a day, but sometimes he was made to go a week or so without any contact…and then the days when he’d been taken twice or even three times. 

In eight years, had he really been _raped_ over two thousand times?

Yes, he comprehended abruptly, he had.

Suddenly, he was overcome with fear. He was terrified that the man he’d once thought he’d loved would come back for him. How had he been blind to it? How had three days apart from the man made his head so clear?

He didn’t love his previous keeper any more than he had his first master—the one who had kidnapped him and trained him brutally. What set the two men apart? That his very first master kept him addicted to cocaine and his second master was kind enough to set his brain free? That his second keeper at least _tried_ to be gentle some nights when his first master had only tried to cause pain? What did it matter? They both beat him, they both raped him, and they both sold him… They were one in the same.

Frank was different, though. Frank didn’t beat him, hardly touched him, gave him shelter and food without a price…but who was to say he wouldn’t start?

He didn’t want hit anymore—ever again. He was sick of being in pain, kept in pain, made to be in pain. He didn’t deserve it, and he knew that now when he hadn’t before. Gerard _knew_ now that he hadn’t been in need of a beating when refused to open his mouth so his sadistic keeper could fuck his face. He had a right to say no—he was a human, not a toy. 

A realization like that could get a whore killed.

Gerard flinched, as if expecting someone to materialize out of the thin, smoky air of the apartment and strike him just for having the thought. He was a whore, a slave—nothing. He wasn’t human, he wasn’t a person…he was a plaything, a sex object. 

Every blow to his body, he deserved. Someone had to correct his mistakes, and pain was the only way to do that. As for the rape, you couldn’t rape what you owned… And he _needed_ to be owned. On his own he was worthless, a good-for-nothing…what?

A good-for-nothing what? 

Whore? Slave? Toy? He didn’t even know…

Gerard sighed shakily and turned the television back on, because that was what his master wanted him to do—watch TV, write, or draw. He didn’t feel up to being creative anymore. Those skills and talents were buried in his past—buried in his bedroom at home with his parents, if that house was still theirs, if they were still alive…if they thought to leave any traces of the burden of their first born child behind after he’d been mercifully taken from their hands.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank walked home in the rain, occasionally glaring up at the sky that wasn’t supposed to be dumping rain for another two hours…or so the dumb-ass weatherman had said. Thunder ripped the sky subtly, nowhere near loud enough to shake things hanging on walls but still intense enough to frighten the baby in the arms of the woman who rushed past him.

He didn’t care much about the thunder or the flashes of light—he was more upset by the fact that his best pair of shoes was slowly filling with water, and that his shirt was so wet that it was practically see-through and his apartment building was still three blocks away.

It was no use to try to run to get home now…he was as soaked as he was going to get, no part of him left dry, so he just walked at a brisk pace with his head down to avoid the snotty looks from the people with hoods, umbrellas, and jackets. 

When he finally made it to the building and pulled his key from his pocket, the rain began to beat down harder and the thunder groaned louder as it caught up with the flashes of lightning. He stared at the rushes of water and sighed. At least he could be thankful that he hadn’t been caught in _that_. Some of his commute home had been pleasant. 

His shoes squelched as he walked through the hallways and up the stairs, meshing with the sounds of the water that dripped off of him and the occasional chatter from within an apartment he passed or a blaring radio. 

Again, he didn’t know what to expect when he made it into his apartment, and again, any ideas he had did not match what happened. As soon as he pulled open the door, he was ambushed, literally knocked to the floor by his new companion as it latched onto him. Gerard didn’t let go, even though he’d knocked his “master” to the floor and regardless of the fact that his own clothes were beginning to absorb the rainwater from Frank’s.

“You okay?” Frank groaned out as he tried to sit up despite the body laying flush against his own on the floor of the hallway where anyone could appear and see them at any time. The instant his back was off the floor, Gerard’s arms were around his shoulders in a nearly crushing embrace. His companion pushed his head underneath Frank’s chin and mumbled an answer that could have been anything… “Okay, okay—let’s just stand up okay? I’m soaking wet, I want to change clothes.” Frank started to stand and Gerard rose with him, not letting go of him for an instant. It was an event getting him to let go so they could walk inside the apartment, but Frank succeeded in the end.

“Master, I missed you—Master, you’re all wet…” Frank didn’t know whether he should respond to the first statement, the second, the fact that he was being frantically called ‘Master’ again even though he kept telling him that his name was Frank, or the nervous tone of Gerard’s voice. “Master? You’re being really quiet…” Frank locked the door and moved towards his bedroom slowly. The television was on, a sign that Gerard had listened to one of his suggestions, but the program that was playing proved that Gerard had never been actually _watching_ it. There was no way in hell this pathetic guy had an attention span set to receive the romance drama of a repeat episode of _The Bachelor_. “Master? Are you angry at me?” Gerard followed him to the doorway of the bedroom where he stopped, obviously waiting to be asked inside. Frank locked their gazes, feeling a bit too fatigued to try to hold out a conversation with him at the moment, but knowing that if he just closed the door his guest would panic. “Master, did I do something wrong?”

“I’m just going to change my clothes, okay?” He said calmly. “I’m soaking wet…”

“Do you want me to get you a towel, Ma—”

“No thanks. But you might want to change your shirt.” For the first time, Gerard seemed to acknowledge the dampness of his own clothes.

“Do you want me to, Master?” Frank sighed and leaned against the doorframe, growing more and more frustrated the longer he stood in his soaked shoes.

“Yeah,” Frank answered, a little too brusquely. Gerard’s head dropped a little. “Then we’re going to talk for a minute, okay?” Gerard nodded.

“Okay, but Master—” The thunder caught up with the lightning, and the loud crash that resulted in Frank being caged in Gerard’s arms again made the lights in the apartment flicker, and left the television dark and silent from the surge as well. 

Frank wound his arms around Gerard’s shoulders gently, making sure to at least return the embrace before softly pushing the other man back a step from him. Gerard’s eyes instantly went to the door of the apartment, as if expecting someone to be standing there.

“Go change,” Frank said, forcing on a smile to encourage the man to obey him. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Just as Gerard looked back at him, obviously ready to ask him to wait, Frank closed the bedroom door and stripped his soaked shirt off while stepping out of his shoes. He took the belt out of his pants and forced them down, the denim of his jeans heavy with the water and practically falling on their own. He passed a wary look to the door, wondering if another crash of thunder was going to make Gerard lose what little self-control he had left and come rushing inside as he, Frank, attempted to change his underwear—because what good where dry pants when your boxers were soaked?

In the end, he decided just to act fast. Cross the room, grab the dry pair of boxers from his dresser drawer, strip off the wet ones and step into the dry ones as quickly as possible because he did _not_ want that broken creature seeing him naked, even if Gerard would undoubtedly act as though nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Finished changing, Frank mentally readied himself to go back out into the living room. He’d had a stressful enough day at work, now he had to figure out what was wrong with his new companion—other than the storm…and for some reason, Gerard didn’t strike him as the kind of person to be afraid of rain and thunder. It wasn’t his reaction to the storm that had Frank curious, it was the fact that yesterday Gerard would at least call him “Frank” once in a while—today, every sentence started with “Master”.

Perhaps Gerard hadn’t understood the whole “you’re not my slave” speech and needed to have it reworded and fed to him again. With a sigh, Frank opened the door and went back to the living room where Gerard stood in a different shirt, picking at his hands and staring at Frank nervously.

“Master,” Gerard started, his eyes darting away and then meeting Frank’s again. “Master, I didn’t mean to knock you over. It was an accident, and I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Frank said softly, walking towards the couch and touching Gerard’s arm so he would follow him over to it. He seemed reluctant to sit down, but a sudden growl of thunder made his legs give out and drop him onto the couch. 

“Master, you seem like you’re mad at me today…”

“I’m just tired—I got behind at work from the day I took off—”

“Day you took off?” Gerard repeated instantly. Frank was surprised that that detail had even caught the man’s attention. “Master, what day did you take off?”

“The day I got your tooth fixed—I am not your master, please don’t call me that anymore.” Gerard seemed to sink into himself then, and he didn’t say anything else. “You’re allowed to call me Frank—I _want_ you to.” He tried to keep his tone gentle, not demanding or rough. He wanted the request to sound like an option—like Gerard could call him Frank because he wanted to, not because he’d been _commanded_ to.

“Master, I missed you.” Frank closed his eyes tightly. He should have seen it coming—Gerard was going to call him master because he wanted to… 

Lightning struck again and took the power with it, killing the lights with a reverberating hum and leaving Gerard in Frank’s arms again, practically crawling into his lap.

“Master, I—”

“Frank,” Frank corrected. “Just call me Frank, okay?” Gerard nodded and then buried his head in Frank’s chest. He wasn’t shaking, and that alone told Frank that Gerard wasn’t fucking scared at all. But what could Frank do? Push him off and yell at him for whatever he was trying to do?—get closer to him, get attention, get a damned hug…

“Frank, I missed you,” Gerard said for the third time…or was it the fourth? Frank couldn’t remember. “What did you want to talk to me about?” He leaned back in Frank’s lap, his arms still encircling Frank’s neck gently.

“What happened while I was at work today?” Frank asked. Gerard just turned his head sideways. “You’re acting different and I have to say I don’t like it. It’s freaking me out.” Gerard slid away from him, either in sadness or because he realized his ploy wasn’t working. “So what happened today that’s got you upset?”

“Nothing happened,” he mumbled. “Really.” 

“Come on, Gerard, talk to me. _Something_ had to have happened.”

“I missed you,” Gerard said quietly. Frank groaned and tried to keep himself from beating his head against the wall.

“ _Other than that!_ ” He pleaded. “You’re upset—just tell me why. Make it easy.” Frank immediately regretted his tone, and was nauseated by the fact that the tone worked.

“I missed you, and I got lonely.” Gerard leaned over and put his head on Frank’s shoulder, some kind of confliction in his eyes.

“And what about the ‘master, master’ talk? You weren’t doing that yesterday.” Gerard sighed and leaned over a little heavier.

“You’re my keeper…”

“No, I’m not,” Frank insisted, pushing Gerard away so that he could meet his eyes. “Listen, you’re not in that situation anymore.” Gerard turned his eyes away, and then back slowly. “Gerard, you’re not a possession—no one owns you, you don’t have a keeper.” Gerard made a noise as if he were in pain and turned his face away. “Sweetheart…sweetie…” Every time he tried to get Gerard to look at him, the man pulled violently away. “Gerard…”

“I want my master,” he said softly, like a moan of agony, and Frank sighed.

“Why?” Frank asked softly. “Why do you miss that man after what he did to you?”

“He did what he was supposed to.”

“Rape you? Beat you? Sell you?”

“You can’t rape what you _own!_ ” Gerard insisted, glaring at the floor and then looking to Frank desperately. 

“You can’t own a person! Gerard, it’s wrong—he didn’t own you!” Gerard made another sound of pain and shook his head. “He didn’t have the right to do that.”

“But I don’t want to think that it’s true,” Gerard whimpered, lowering his head into his hands and hiding his face.

“That what’s true?” Frank asked as he put a gentle hand on his companion’s shoulder. Gerard shook his head and Frank began to rub his shoulder gently, trying to comfort him.

“That…that he raped me…two thousand times.” Frank’s eyes widened in confusion and alarm.

“Two—two thousand times?”

“Every day…eight years…it’s like two thousand times.”

“Actually, it’s like three thousand ti—” Frank was cut off by Gerard’s loud wail. “Honey, it’s okay. Please, don’t cry.”

“I miss my parents, Frank—and I know they won’t want me so there’s no point trying to send me back!” Frank pulled him close and nuzzled the top of his head, allowing the man to sob on his chest and tremble. 

“Why do you think that?” Frank asked. “Did you guys have a fight before…before you got taken?” Gerard shook his head and then shrugged, sniffing before he spoke.

“We always fought…I was an addict—what do you expect!?” Frank stroked his hair softly, feeling Gerard’s body grow even tenser in his arms. “I mean, I want my mom and dad to want me back, but it’s not going to happen! Why would they? How could they want a whore? I’d just make them miserable—so please, just stay my master and keep me! I don’t want to leave you!”

“Gerard—” Frank tried to push the man back so he could look at him, try to see what was in his eyes so he could address it, but Gerard clung to him. 

“Master, I need you! I don’t want to love him anymore! I want you—I want you to take his place!”

“I don’t want to take his place!” Frank cried out. “Gerard, I want to get you better so you can go home!” He finally pulled Gerard off of him and kissed his cheek in attempt to calm him. It worked, but only a little. “Your parents want you, Gerard! They have a website set up for people to help them find you!” Gerard’s eyes softened a little and sniffed before looking away.

“They wouldn’t want me if they knew what I am…” 

“That isn’t true.”

“You don’t even want me…” Frank sighed loudly, ready to give up but knowing he couldn’t.

“You’re not mine, Gerard. It doesn’t matter if I want you or not.” Gerard made a quiet sound and pulled himself off of the couch. 

“I’m scared, Frank,” Gerard mumbled softly, creeping towards the office that functioned as his bedroom in the dim light of the power-outage. 

“Why, Sweetie?” Frank asked, getting up and following him. Gerard shook his head slowly. “Gerard?”

“I’m just…an object.”

“No, you’re not,” Frank insisted. 

“I am…”

“You’re _not_. Gerard, you’re human. You’re the same as me. What those men did to you was wrong—what they’ve done to all of the other people at that auction is _wrong_. None of you deserved that. It doesn’t matter if you used to be an addict or not—it doesn’t mean you deserved to be—”

“Stop it...”

“—raped every day—”

“Master, stop it!”

“—for eight years! I’m not your master! You don’t _have_ a master!”

“But I want one!” Gerard argued, turning around and facing Frank with panic. “I want someone to tell me what to do! I-I can’t think for myself!”

“Yes you can! You proved that yesterday when you yelled Ray!”

“And I’m sorry!” Gerard cried. “I just got angry!”

“Maybe you—” Frank was cut off by a heavy knock on the apartment door. A neighbor, he assumed, come to ask if they had power or to tell them to keep down the shouting. 

Frank groaned in frustration and got up from the couch, giving Gerard the chance to escape into his room and curl into a ball on the couch. He opened the door and stumbled back a step as the visitor pushed his way in—Ray, _again_.

“What the hell, man?” Frank asked, startled and still wound up from his argument with Gerard.

“I could ask you the same thing—what are you two yelling about? I could hear you all the way down the hall when I came up.” Ray looked him over, acknowledging his frustration and exhaustion and responding with a look of sympathy.

“Why aren’t you at home?” Frank asked, closing the door of his apartment even though he wanted to push Ray back out into the hallway before his presence could upset Gerard any more than he already was.

“I came to see how he was doing,” Ray stated in a worried tone. 

“Why?” Frank asked, shaking his head disapprovingly and glancing into Gerard’s room. He couldn’t see him where he’d buried himself on the couch.

“He seemed upset yesterday, and—let’s face it, Frank—if he’s ever going to go back out there in the world, he’s going to have to learn to meet new people without—”

“Without what?” Frank snapped, irritated that Ray was talking about Gerard as if he wasn’t there. 

“Without trying to intimidate them.” Frank sighed softly and guided Ray into the house and motioned for him to sit on the couch. “Where is he anyway?”

“In there,” Frank mumbled, looking towards his small office. “He’s really not in the mood for this, Ray.”

Ray glanced at the doorway to the office and then gestured for Frank to come over to him. Looking tired, his friend walked over and sat beside him on the couch. They sat in silence for a minute, making Frank uncomfortable. It was as if something was happening, but _nothing_ was happening. They were sitting on the couch in silence in a power-outage house…

“Ray…” Frank started, not knowing what to say or how to address his friend’s complete silence. Ray held up a finger to him in a gesture to wait, and Frank furrowed his brow in confusion. Then he heard the couch in the office creak as Gerard got up and made his appearance, giving Ray the same murderous look that he’d bestowed on Frank the first morning he’d woken up in the apartment. The one that started intense and just grew darker from there. “Gerard,” Frank said quietly, trying to break the other man’s concentration. It didn’t work. “Gerard, are you okay?” Still, he didn’t get an answer, not even when a loud hum filled the building and lights came back on.

Not until Ray randomly threw his arm over Frank’s shoulder. Instinctively, Frank pulled away from the unexpected touch—possibly giving Ray the effect he’d wanted because Gerard responded then.

“I’m going to make coffee,” Gerard said suddenly, turning his eyes to Frank. “While the power is back on.” Those eyes said he was up to something. 

“Okay,” Frank mumbled in response, watching Gerard slink off into the kitchen. “I really think you should go, Ray,” he said quietly as he listened to Gerard work on the coffee.

“But you see it, right?” Ray asked, pulling his arm back and looking at Frank seriously. 

“See what?” Frank asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “That he doesn’t like you?”

“It’s not just me,” Ray said in a whisper. “It’ll be anyone who is ever around you. The last guy got rid of him because he was so possessive—Frank, he’s going to get hostile towards anyone that comes over here.”

“He gets scared,” Frank whispered back defensively.

“Yeah, he’s scared _at first_ , but you were there yesterday—he’s not defenseless and he knows it. You can’t tell me that you buy in to how timid and fragile he acts. If he can glare at me like that and get all pissed off like he did yesterday, he’s got more going on in his head than he shows you.”

“I don’t care,” Frank whispered harshly, even though he remembered what Gerard’s master had said when he’d been selling him. He had fight left in him…he attacked the other whores when his master came home from work to keep them away…deep down, he was destructive. “We’re not talking about this while he’s in the other room.” Ray sighed and looked towards the doorway of the kitchen. Several seconds later, Gerard appeared with two cups of coffee.

He neared Frank and offered him one, smiling when Frank accepted and then leaning forward to force a kiss onto his lips that Frank couldn’t squirm away from while trying to balance an over-flowing cup of coffee in his hands. At the same time that Frank grunted in discomfort, Gerard’s eyes snapped towards Ray, saying more than his mouth ever would. 

Frank read those eyes, even though they weren’t directed at him. Gerard was telling Ray to get out, that Frank was his to keep entertained, that Frank didn’t need anyone else. He was warning him not to try to touch him again, and threatening him seriously so Ray wouldn’t even consider it.

“Gerard,” Frank said firmly, instantly getting the other’s attention and making him stand back up straight, still holding the second cup in his hands delicately. “Quit it.” Gerard turned his head to the side, instantly taking all of the defensiveness out of his face and replacing it with confusion and sadness. 

“I don’t—”

“Yes you do know,” Frank stated, ignoring the way Gerard looked from him to Ray and then back, as if asking not to be yelled at in front of him because the embarrassment would kill him. “Don’t do it again.” Gerard glanced down at the floor before turning his eyes back to Frank. He looked defeated.

“I got a coffee for your friend,” he said quietly. “Does he want it?” Frank sighed and turned his eyes to Ray.

“Ray, you want coffee?”

“Sure,” Ray mumbled, regretting his decision the instant he caught Gerard’s eye. The eyes were filled with pleasure again, and Ray asked himself what sort of idiot accepts scalding hot drinks from his enemies.

As the drink was being handed to him, Frank saw Gerard intentionally tip the cup so that a fair amount splashed over the rim and onto Ray’s hands. He also saw the glint in Gerard’s eyes and the pleasure wash over his face when Ray hissed in pain.

“Gerard!” Frank shouted, mostly in disappointment but with enough anger mixed in to startle the man…a mistake. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had intended to splash the coffee onto him, yes, but he hadn’t expected to end up spilling the whole thing—that act was crueler than he was. When Frank called his name, his master’s anger startlingly prominent, his wrists gave out and he lost his hold on the cup that Ray was halfheartedly holding with one hand while shaking the scalding drops off the other. The cup fell directly into Ray’s lap, spilling a fair amount on the inside of his right leg and making him growl out a curse as he straightened the cup and set it away on the floor.

Gerard covered his mouth with his putrid, clumsy hands and choked out a whimper because he couldn’t express his horror in words. He stared at Ray nervously, taking in his irritated facial expression and the way he pulled the damp fabric of his pant leg away from his skin in an attempt to stop the burning. Frank would not forgive him for this—not for _really_ burning his friend…

“Ray, you alright?” Frank asked worriedly, putting a hand on Ray’s shoulder and watching him with obvious concern. Gerard felt awful, truly awful. He hadn’t meant to do it…his master would know that, right? Know the difference between deliberate, superficial wounds and accidental, serious ones, right? Frank wouldn’t be mad…right?

“Fine,” Ray grunted. “Fuck.” He sighed, his pain seeming to have faded for he stopped tugging at his jeans’ leg.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard stammered, calling attention on to him that he knew he didn’t want. Frank’s eyes locked with his and narrowed into a glare that made his breath catch in his throat. 

“Get in my room and stay there,” Frank snapped, his tone frigid. Gerard’s heart sank, he literally felt it drop into his stomach and begin to constrict. He tried to whimper out his master’s name, to beg his keeper to let him explain that it was an accident, but Frank cut him off. “Now!”

“Frank, he didn’t mean it,” Ray started, his calmness making Gerard paranoid. Why wasn’t he mad? He was the one who was supposed to be mad, not Frank—Frank was supposed to be trying to defend him, not the _houseguest_ that was trying to take Frank’s attention away from him, what little he got already.

“Please, Frank, I really didn’t mean to!” Gerard pleaded, trying to extract some look from his keeper that wasn’t laced with anger. 

“Yes you did!” Frank snapped. “Now, do what I said! Get in my room, and I’ll be there to deal with you in a minute, after I make sure my _friend_ is alright!” The meaning of his master’s words sunk into his chest and tore him open from the inside out. Why would his master want him in his room, the room with the bed, to yell at him? Any other room would suffice for that… No, Gerard knew what Frank meant by ‘deal with you’, and his heart broke. 

He knew that it was going to happen—knew there was no point in trusting this man more than his other two masters. Frank was going to take him, and who knew how badly he would make it hurt. 

What he should’ve done—what he was trained to do—was go into the room, shut the door, strip himself and wait for his master to come and ravage him in every painful way possible, but he couldn’t bear the thought.

Frank had said he wouldn’t do that to him…he promised! Gerard couldn’t let that happen to him again. He didn’t want to be someone’s toy anymore, someone’s pet…but what choice did he have? He was a slave, and he knew he deserved to be tortured for what he’d let himself do in a childish attempt to scare someone away. 

“I said _now_ , Gerard!” Frank snapped again, making Gerard’s name sound like a curse word and making Gerard regret telling it to him. 

“Frank, come on,” Ray said, touching Frank’s shoulder to get his attention. “He _didn’t_ mean it.”

It didn’t matter if he’d meant it or not, Gerard understood. He’d still done it, and he still deserved to be beaten and taken if that was the punishment his master saw fit…but he didn’t want to go in that room and let it happen. The idea was driving him insane, the images his brain was producing combing Frank with the tortures that his past two masters had forced on him were making small whimpers break from his throat.

No, he couldn’t take it—Frank had promised him.

“Gerard, don’t make me tell you again,” Frank said firmly.

“Please!” Gerard cried out, even though he knew better. “Please, you promised you wouldn’t do that to me!” As soon as the words were out, the tears hit him and he broke down into sobs. His master wouldn’t want to hear him cry, but he couldn’t fight it back. His strength had been robbed from him by his sense of betrayal. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” It had been just as he’d feared, Frank had deceived him with kindness in order to win his trust, just so he could abuse him and savor his slave’s emotional destruction. “Master, please!” Gerard cried out, beginning to choke on his tears and starting to cough but still trying to speak, trying to beg Frank to change his mind. “Master, I don’t want to! I really can’t do this anymore! Please, Master—please don’t!”

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank thought over what he’d said and sighed in self-disgust. His bedroom? Why had he said his bedroom? Why couldn’t he have just said the kitchen? His initial thought had been to close Gerard in the room so he could talk to Ray without Gerard being able to hear, but of course Gerard wouldn’t see it that way—he would panic, and he was panicking, thinking he was about to be raped.

And with him panicking, choking out cries for mercy in between fits of coughing, Frank couldn’t even get a word in to stop him.

Frank looked to Ray, hoping that somehow he’d have an answer to how to calm the poor man down. He was just watching in pained silence, obviously disturbed by the amount of terror on Gerard’s face.

Gerard’s words disappeared and he settled for wrapping his arms around himself and sobbing hard, his whole body shaking as his breathing sped up in between fits of chokes.

“Sweetie, calm down,” Frank said, going to him and putting a gentle hand on one of Gerard’s. The man made a noise of pain, as if Frank’s touch burned him, and pulled away. “Honey, I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just wanted you to go somewhere to calm down, okay?” Gerard didn’t seem to hear over his deep, rapid breaths. “Honey? Gerard, come on,” Frank pressed, knowing that if he didn’t stop, he was going to pass out before long. “Breathe. Gerard, just breathe—nothing’s going to happen. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I don’t believe that!” Gerard called out, his breathing stopping afterwards as he seemed to hold his breath in an attempt to calm himself. After several seconds, he began to breathe more slowly, his inhales shaking badly. Frank waited until Gerard was able to cry without choking to speak again, afraid that he would set off another attack that wouldn’t end so well.

“Sweetie, why don’t you sit on the couch, okay? Just calm down for a few minutes while I talk to Ray in the hall.” With a bit of guidance from Frank, Gerard stumbled towards the couch and seemed to trip onto it, dropping against the cushions heavily. 

Frank left him there and gestured for Ray to go with him into the hall—Ray didn’t seem to want to leave the man alone, but went with Frank regardless, closing the door behind them both.

“What the hell was that?” Ray asked, more or less to express his surprise and not to get an actual answer.

“A panic attack, I think,” Frank sighed, leaning against the door heavily. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him…”

“Take him to the police. You can’t keep him around you if he gets like that—he’s beyond your help.”

“But he’s getting better here,” Frank said staring at the ceiling of the hallway and keeping an ear trained on his apartment for any changes in the sounds he heard inside…

“Getting better,” Ray repeated in disbelief. “You can stand there and call _that_ getting better? He just had a panic attack because he thought you were going to rape him!”

“That’s my point,” Frank muttered, meeting Ray’s eyes. “He said he couldn’t do this anymore, and that he _didn’t want to._ When he first came here, he wouldn’t have dared to say that. Even yesterday, he would’ve let me do whatever I wanted to him. Now, he’s finally realized that he has a say.” Ray sighed heavily and looked at the door to the apartment.

“You’ve got to get him out of here, Frank. It doesn’t matter if he’s starting to understand that he doesn’t have to do everything you say, he’s still getting severely attached to you. He didn’t drop that whole cup on purpose, but he meant to get me away from you when he splashed me with it.”

“I know…but he’ll get over that, too. Just give him time.”

“The more time he spends with you, the more attached he’s going to get. He’s even trying to get kisses from you.”

“He’s _always_ trying to get kisses from me,” Frank mumbled, almost defensively. “He’s done that since I got him.”

“You’re not going to be able to do this much longer.”

“I know,” Frank said with a heavy sigh. “It’s just…he’s so damaged, Ray. If he goes back to his parents like this, they might not be able to handle it.”

“ _You_ can’t handle it. He’s their son, and they’re going to be happy to have him back no matter what condition he’s in so long as he’s alive.”

“He’s already afraid they don’t want him. If I send him home and they don’t understand him…if they get mad when does the things that he does…it’ll ruin him. Ray, he wouldn’t be able to take it.”

“Frank, whether they can handle it or not, he’s _theirs_. Call the police and get him out of this situation. Put him back with his family. He belongs there.”

“I will,” Frank said, hearing something move in his apartment. “Soon. But right now I need to fix this. So I’ll talk to you later.” He didn’t give Ray a chance to say more before going into the apartment and locking the door behind him. 

Gerard was standing close to the doorway, looking sad but otherwise calm. 

“Frank?” Gerard said quietly, watching him as he walked by and moved to sit on the couch even though there was coffee on the floor that needed cleaned before it left a stain. 

“Gerard?” Frank said back tiredly, staring at the silent television.

“You’re not my master,” Gerard said calmly, confidently.

“I know.”


	7. S-I-N, S-I-N

Michael Way got up early because it was the ninth of April, and if there was one place he didn’t want to be on the ninth of April, it was at home. It used to be that his parents would go into a state panic if he wasn’t in his room when they woke up, but now that he was in college they didn’t seem to acknowledge what time he left or when he came home, or if he even came home at all. Especially not on two very specific days of the year—April ninth, and October sixteenth. 

His brother’s birthday, and the day his brother disappeared.

Michael, known to most as Mikey, had been thirteen on the Saturday morning that his parents went to check on his brother and found he wasn’t there. He remembered listening to them shout that it was “just like Gerard” to start staying out all night and that he was “in for it” when he finally decided to come home. As they ranted for literal _hours_ about how _terrible_ Gerard had been acting as of late, and how _disappointed_ they were that he’d let himself become such a lost cause, Mikey had had this gut-wrenching feeling that something was wrong.

Gerard wasn’t coming home. He knew it. Somehow, he’d known it.

He’d wanted to tell their father as he sat at the kitchen table all night Saturday, waiting for Gerard to stumble in, that he was wasting his time, but didn’t. 

Saturday night, no Gerard. Sunday morning, police officers, but no Gerard. Sunday night, no one who had been with him Friday had seen him since, and no Gerard. Monday, no Gerard. Tuesday, no Gerard. November, no Gerard. Christmas, no Gerard. New Years, no Gerard. _Eight years_ , no Gerard.

Eight years of listening to his mother cry on holidays and those two particular days…not to mention the many random days thrown in between. 

No, Mikey didn’t want to be home on Gerard’s birthday, because he knew what was waiting the very second his mother woke up.

But he didn’t make it out of bed fast enough. 

His alarm went off at three thirty in the morning and he could hear his mother’s loud sobs coming from his parents’ bedroom as he silenced the device and sighed. Too late. He got dressed and tried to do anything but listen to the sounds as he prepped himself to leave the house. 

As he crept out of his room, he noticed the light streaming under the door of his parents’ room and light bleeding up from the bottom of the stairs. Mom was upstairs, Dad was downstairs…shit.

His Dad would keep him from leaving, and the only way of getting out now was either through his bedroom window or the plan that had worked for him last year on October sixteenth…start a fight and get kicked out.

Maybe he wouldn’t fight, and maybe he would willingly stay in the house and mourn with parents, if the reason for his staying was because they were afraid that he might disappear too, or that something might happen and they’d be devastated at the loss of their second child as well…not because it was disrespectful to “go out and have fun” on the day his brother “fucking died”. 

Mikey knew he had to face it. When his brother disappeared, so did his parents’ affection. They lost one son, and they acted as if both of them had died… They pretended to keep it together, but they were both broken.

They’d both given Gerard up for dead and, although it was their coping mechanism because they hoped he was free of drugs and not slowly suffering in some godforsaken place, it pissed Mikey off. He was alive. Gerard was alive—somewhere. Why wasn’t anyone looking anymore?

Mikey started towards his parents’ bedroom, wishing he was going downstairs to start a fight so he could leave. It hurt him that his father couldn’t even try to offer comfort to his mother when she broke down on these days. He could only imagine how lonely she had to feel, lost in her own misery and pain.

“Mom?” Mikey asked, knocking on the door softly and then pushing it open. His mother choked back a sob and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, turning to look at him and then shaking her head as if to tell him to go away. He should have, he really, _really_ should have. “Mom, are you okay?” She choked out that she was fine, but Mikey still entered the room and dropped down beside her on the bed. Within several seconds, she returned to crying, almost acting as if Mikey wasn’t there. “Mom, please don’t cry,” he said quietly, putting an arm around her and accepting the hug that followed. “We’ll find him,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

He really should have gone downstairs.

“Oh, God, Mikey, stop it already!” His mother sobbed, pushing him away and standing up from the bed so she could stand by the window instead. “Why do you keep pushing it that he’s out there somewhere suffering?”

“Why do you want him to be _dead?_ ” Mikey snapped back, irritated that every time he tried to be comforting, this sort of thing happened. “Mom, he’s out there somewhere _alive_.” She shook her head and pointed towards the bedroom door, telling him to leave without speaking. “Why don’t you believe that?”

“Because it’s not true!” She shouted. “God, Mikey, _women_ go missing and get found again, not men—not _drug addicts._ Someone _killed_ him!” She sniffed loudly and shook her head. “Probably his dealer.”

“His addiction wasn’t that bad—why do you always bring it up!?” Mikey stood from the bed, ready to leave but not wanting to abandon the fight. Someone had to be on Gerard’s side in this. Someone had to remember who he was and fight to bring that image back.

“What would you know about it? You were just a kid!”

“So was he!” Mikey shouted back. 

“And what’s your point, Mikey? That kids go missing because someone wants to fuck them and then throw them in a ditch alongside the highway?” Mikey turned his face away and sighed angrily. “I don’t want to accept it either, but it’s been eight years! He’s dead now!” His mother stopped shouting and broke into tears again, covering her face with her hands and sobbing brokenly.

He started for the door, regretting having spoken to her and trying to offer comfort. What good did it do? Everyone was sold on the fact that his brother was dead when there was no proof of the contrary. 

It _had_ been eight years, so come on, hadn’t they waited long enough?

( ) ( ) ( )

“Gerard,” Frank moaned, half asleep and groggy laying face down on his bed. “Gerard,” he groaned again, dragging the name out unbelievably long. All he got in response was a tired whine. “Gerard, why are you in my bed?” Frank pulled himself up a little and then collapsed back down on the pillow. Christ, he was too tired for this. “Gerard—answer me,” Frank moaned out, almost wanting to cry because he had to be at work in an hour and he’d only gone to bed an hour and a half ago. 

“Mnn.” That was it. That was Gerard’s answer… Frank didn’t have time to press him for more. He had to get up to get his shower and leave so he’d be at work on time—two hours earlier than usual because some asshole decided to call off. “Don’t leave,” Gerard said almost pathetically as Frank sat up in bed.

“I’ve got work, sweetheart. I can’t stay home or else I won’t _have_ a home.”

“It’s early,” Gerard whined, moving closer to Frank on the bed. Frank sighed softly and touched the other man’s hair lightly. Gerard was lonely. “You said you’d be home late—leave early, come home late.”

“I have to,” Frank mumbled with a sigh, petting Gerard’s hair and then getting out of bed.

“Can’t I go with you? It’s a restaurant, I can just stay at one of the tables—”

“No,” Frank said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to be alone all day!” Gerard moaned, burying himself in the blankets when Frank clipped on the light. Frank looked over him sadly, knowing what he had to do before the week was over. He had to call this man’s parents and send him back to them. Sure, he still had enough money to keep him fed for another six months—at _least_ —but he didn’t have the time for him. 

It made him feel horrible because he suddenly realized that the puppy he wanted to buy after Gerard was gone was something he couldn’t have. It wouldn’t be fair to the poor creature. Sure, Gerard understood why he was gone all of the time, but a dog wouldn’t. He couldn’t have a dog, and he couldn’t keep Gerard.

He was going to be lonely on his own.

“Frank…I’m really lonely—you come home, you eat, and you go to bed.” Frank sighed heavily and picked out his clothes for the day. Today he was working a full fourteen hours. He wasn’t going to have the energy to keep Gerard company at all when he got home. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, trying not to think about it because it was becoming overwhelming. He felt _guilty_ leaving Gerard here on his own. “I can’t do anything about it. Someone called off and there’s no one there to cover his shift but me.” Gerard let out a shaky sigh and shifted on the bed. 

“Please stay…”

“I can’t. If I take more time off, I’ll get fired. I can’t. I’m sorry—I can’t.” Unable to take it, Frank left the room with the clothes he’d collected and shut himself in the bathroom. 

It was three a.m…most of the world was just going to bed.

Just going to bed?

Frank dropped his clothes on the counter and went to the kitchen where the landline telephone was. If the world was just now going to bed, then Ray would still be awake if he didn’t have work…He shouldn’t. It was his day off.

_Someone_ had to keep Gerard company…and maybe if he, Frank, wasn’t around, Gerard would try to be a little nicer this time.

“Frank, it is three in the morning. _What?_ ” That was definitely the ‘I just got into bed’ voice.

“Do you work today?” Frank asked quickly, trying to keep his voice down so it wouldn’t catch Gerard’s attention.

“No. Do _you_ work today?” His sarcasm was almost painful.

“Listen, I need a favor. I got called in to work a fourteen hour shift—”

“Holy fuck. Do you get a break?” At least his sympathy was as intense as his irritation at being kept awake.

“I get two—I’m not allowed to leave the building though so I kind of don’t. But listen, I can’t leave Gerard by himself that long. It’s really messing him up—”

“Call the police, Frank. You’re torturing the poor guy.”

“I’m going to _tomorrow_. I don’t have time today. Can you please just come over maybe around ten? Keep him company.”

“Yeah…come over and visit the guy who wants to kill me. I don’t know, Frank. He’s not going to want me around him.”

“I can’t miss work and he’s getting depressed. He’s so lonely that he’s crawling into bed with me at night. It’d be just for a few hours. Give him someone to talk to…”

“Fine. I’ll come over at ten. Just leave the door unlocked and make sure he knows I’m coming over because I don’t want him to kill me and use the ‘I thought he was a burglar’ trick.”

“Thanks, Ray,” Frank said quietly, ignoring the defeated sound of his friend’s voice. 

“And you’d better call the cops tomorrow, or I’m going to.” Ray hung up the phone then and Frank started for the shower, almost pissing himself when Gerard was standing in the doorway of the bathroom waiting for him.

“Shit—how do you always move around here without me noticing?” He exclaimed.

“I want to take a shower with you—”

“No.” Frank’s voice was firm, and he met Gerard’s eyes as he said it.

“But I—”

“No. It’s not going to happen. Go to bed.” Gerard’s face fell, like he’d actually expected to be allowed.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Ray,” Frank said, putting a hand on Gerard’s shoulder and gently pushing him out of the bathroom.

“Why him?” Gerard asked like an irate five-year-old. 

“I asked him to come over and keep you company today since you’re so lonely.” Frank could’ve laughed at the look of horror and disgust that overcame Gerard’s face, if he hadn’t been so tired. 

“No!” Gerard opposed loudly. “Why him? He doesn’t like me!”

“You don’t like him, remember?” Frank asked exhaustedly, not wanting to have this conversation.

“I don’t mind Ray…” Gerard said softly. “I just don’t like it when he’s with you.”

“That was incredibly honest, Gerard,” Frank stated bluntly, extracting a confused look from his companion. “I won’t be here, so you’ll just have to be nice. Make a friend. Now go back to bed.”

“Well, what time is he coming over?” Gerard asked as Frank tried to close the bathroom door.

“About ten. I’m leaving the door unlocked, so he’s going to let himself in.”

“What if a burglar comes in?” Frank looked Gerard straight in the eyes, reading him easily and making Gerard uncomfortable.

“You know what Ray looks like. If someone comes in that’s not Ray, kill them. I don’t care.” He closed the door, really wondering if he should have let himself tell Gerard to _kill_ any visitor that wasn’t Ray…then he decided that he was way too fucking tired to even care.

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray opened the door to the apartment, kind of expecting assault rifles or the bucket of water over the door trick… He’d stopped at a fast-food place on the way over, maybe or maybe not trying to buy the sex-crime victim’s affection with frozen and fried meat and cheese… 

“You’re early,” was all he got, a whimpered phrase from a man cowering behind the corner of Frank’s bedroom doorway. “What is in the bag?” He seemed to shy away from it, slipping further from view and looking ready to slam and barricade the bedroom door if he had to.

“I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”

“Why?” Gerard said back very accusingly. “You can’t have sex with me—you’re not allowed.” He closed the door then, keeping them separated and making Ray regret this decision even more. Gerard just seemed terrified, not at all up to his usual possessive and violent tricks…not now that Frank wasn’t here to protect him from any threat that may arise. 

“I don’t want to,” Ray said, although he thought he was talking to himself. He closed the apartment door and locked it before taking the bag of food to the kitchen and trying to find a plate in Frank’s unusually clean cabinets. He set out two of the plates once he found them and put the wrapped burgers and fries on each one. One for him, and one for Gerard…if Gerard ever decided he was as lonely as Frank insisted and wanted to come out of the bedroom that smelled too much like Frank. “Are you hungry?” Ray asked, not bothering to shout or yell because he knew Gerard would hear him regardless.

He almost shit himself when he turned his head and Gerard was standing in the kitchen doorway. How the fuck did he move so quietly?

“Yes.” He took a step into the kitchen, looking like a nervous dog, and stopped before even coming within an arm’s reach of the plate. “What did you get for me?”

“Two cheeseburgers and a medium fry—think that’s enough?” He offered Gerard a smile that didn’t erase the hesitation from the man’s face. 

“Soda?” …How had he forgotten to get drinks? “That’s okay, I have coffee…do you want coffee? I won’t drop it.”

“Okay,” Ray answered, setting the plates on the table that Gerard had taken to staring at. Once he sat down, Gerard moved hurriedly over to his coffeemaker, letting himself become enveloped in the task of setting up the filter and pouring in the water. “So…”

“Do you think Frank likes me?” Gerard said abruptly. “He wants to get rid of me.” Ray didn’t know how to answer any of that. Yeah, Frank seemed fond of his new friend, but yes, Frank did _need_ to ‘get rid of’ him. However, Frank didn’t really seem to want to do that…and Gerard didn’t look like he would understand why Frank would have to.

“Frank likes you,” he answered. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t keep you here.”

“But he wants to get rid of me.” Gerard turned his head to look at Ray sadly, and then refocused on the slowly filling pot of coffee. 

“He _has_ to. It’s illegal for him to keep you here, whether you want to stay or not. You’re a missing person.” Gerard sighed, but didn’t say anything back. “Do you not want to go home?”

“I like it here with Frank.” 

“You can still visit him when you go home.”

“If he’s not in fucking jail,” Gerard spat suddenly, shoving something on the counter to take out his frustrations without breaking anything. “I don’t get it—if he turns me in they’ll arrest him! He’ll get in trouble, and it’s not his fault! And they won’t believe me if I say that because of what I’ve been through! And Frank doesn’t deserve that…” Gerard made a sound as if he were crying and grabbed two cups noisily out of the cabinet to disguise it. 

“That’s true,” Ray said softly, watching Gerard fill the cups slowly, “but they’ll take into consideration that he brought you in and they’ll let him go.”

“No they won’t,” Gerard said sadly, setting a cup down by Ray and then sinking into his own seat heavily, his cup in hand. “Frank’s going to get in trouble, and all he did was help me…” 

“Gerard, he’s not going to end up in jail. They’ll take him in for questioning, he’ll tell them what happened, they’ll prove that you are who you say you are, and then you’ll go home and he’ll go home and that’ll be the end of it.”

“End of us,” Gerard cried out. “I love him…” Ray turned his head away and stared at the kitchen sink. 

“Have you told…Frank how you feel?” he asked, knowing that this poor man knew nothing of love beyond a dog’s affection for its owner.

“Frank knows,” Gerard said quietly. “He doesn’t feel the same. Ray?”

“Hm?”

“How do you feel about Frank?” Ray caught Gerard’s eyes in time to watch them go from deep and worried to shallow and defensive. 

“Frank’s my best friend,” Ray answered. 

“You want more than that.”

“No, I think I’m content with the way we are now.” Gerard’s face softened, so Ray assumed that he must have decided he was telling the truth. And just when he started thinking that maybe Gerard was starting to act normal, watching him unfold the wrapper on his cheeseburger almost delightedly, the man had to open his mouth again.

“I’m going to make Frank have sex with me before he throws me out.” His face didn’t even change when he said it, like he didn’t see anything wrong with what he’d said. He just took a bite of his burger and then met Ray’s gaze. “He’s cute. You can’t blame me.” Ray was certain that if his cell phone didn’t ring just then, he would have spent the following six hours staring at Gerard in shock. 

“Um…hold that thought—raping, uh, raping Frank, yeah…I got a call. Hang on a sec.” Ray stumbled out of his seat, trying to ignore the almost hurt look that Gerard was giving him as he fled from the kitchen and out of the apartment so he could talk without Gerard hovering. 

“Ray?” It was Frank, paranoid and bored—as well as exhausted—on his break. “Ray, how’s Gerard? Is he alright? He hasn’t done anything, has he?”

“Frank, he just told me that he was going rape you.”

“What? Ray, don’t listen to him. He was probably trying to freak you out.”

“No he _meant_ it. You need to do something about this—he’s not all there. He wasn’t even bothered by it!”

“He’s _fine_ ,” Frank argued, sighing irritably. “He was just seeing how you’d react.”

“And what if he wasn’t?” Frank groaned.

“ _I don’t care, anymore…_ Ray, they’re asking me to stay an extra hour…and I have to come in and work the same shift tomorrow.” Frank’s voice was shaking, like he was about to faint or break down crying. “The guy quit, and no one else will cover.”

“That’s awful, Frank. Are you going to be—”

“If I don’t take the hours, I’ll get fired,” Frank said, his voice going high-pitched with tears. Ray didn’t say anything, too lost in his thoughts as he tried to cling to something to say while trying to block out the sounds that told him his friend had started to cry from the exhaustion. “And I’m already so tired—he won’t let me sleep. Gerard won’t let me sleep.”

“What do you mean he won’t let you sleep?”

“Last night, I tried to go to bed early, but he just kept talking to me—he wouldn’t stop, and when I tried to tell him that I needed to go to sleep because I had work he twisted it around so it sounded like I was ignoring him on purpose and I felt bad. I mean, he was talking about the guy who kidnapped him, and he was getting upset. I wanted to comfort him and…and I gotta go. My break’s over—I have to go.” Frank hang up abruptly, making Ray wonder if he was even allowed to make phone calls while on break. How a boss could yell at him for anything after he agreed to work two fourteen hour shifts back to back, Ray didn’t know, but he had a feeling that when Frank got home, the least of his worries would be whatever Gerard tried to do to him…if anything at all.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey got successfully thrown out at one o’clock for making his mother cry again. He hadn’t even been trying to, but what the fuck did it matter? It was Gerard’s day, not his. It wasn’t his fault that he’d rather spend it believing that his big brother was still alive and not dead in a junkyard somewhere.

He checked the amount of money he had in his wallet and started down the street towards the diner he liked to go to in order to think. It was open 24/7, even holidays. It was always occupied, but never crowded except for the hours after church on Sundays. It wasn’t a Sunday, so Mikey didn’t care to rethink his path as it led him into the familiar building. 

He was instantly showed to his seat by a woman with her hair in a bun and told that his waiter would be right with him after handing him his menu. He didn’t need to look it over. He knew exactly what he was getting…it was his brother’s birthday, he had to get Gerard’s favorite thing…what he’d always gotten when they came here.

It was another seven minutes before his waiter finally appeared—a short man with black hair who looked dead on his feet—but Mikey didn’t care. He was here to waste time and to think. If he was in a hurry, he would’ve walked the extra block and gone to McDonald’s. 

“Hi, I’m Frank, I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?” The man didn’t even look up from his little notepad.

“Just a coffee,” Mikey answered, analyzing the dark circles under his waiter’s eyes. Judging by the tattoos on his arms and his punk-y hairstyle, Mikey would’ve guessed that he’d been out all night partying.

“Just a coffee,” Frank the Waiter repeated, writing the simple order down. “Do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu, or…”

“Or?” Mikey said, just to see Frank the Waiter’s reaction. He finally got the man to look up from his notepad. Mikey regretted it. The man looked like he was about to cry. “Can you make it two coffees?” Mikey said suddenly. The waiter didn’t ask questions, just jotted the note down. “I still need a minute,” he said. He was here to wait and waste time. Ordering now would shorten his stay.

“Okay, I’ll be back with your coffee, coff _ees_ —sorry— _coffees_ in just a moment.” Frank the Waiter slipped away towards the kitchen and Mikey watched him go. Maybe it wasn’t partying that had warranted the fatigue. Maybe someone he loved had gone missing…

Who really gave a fuck, anyway? 

The waiter came back, carrying two cups of coffee in hands that were shaking badly. Mikey watched the way he moved, the defeated droop of his shoulders and the exhausted shuffle of his feet. His hands were still shaking as he set the two cups down, upsetting one of them which would’ve spilled onto the table had Mikey not reached out and grabbed it. 

“Sorry!” the waiter called out, pulling his hand away as if afraid he’d cause more damage—or afraid to touch Mikey’s. “I’m sorry—did you get burnt. That’s _really_ hot.”

“It’s fine,” Mikey said calmly, pulling the cup that had almost spilled closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” Frank said again, shaking his head in a strange attempt to keep himself awake or in a really odd self-punishment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—are you ready to order, or would you like some more time?”

“I could use some more time, thanks,” Mikey said, noticing the way Frank the Zombie Waiter eyed the menu that hadn’t moved. “I like to have coffee and think of something to eat while I drink it. Or if you brought me some bread and sugar…never mind” The waiter looked at him, his eyes suddenly becoming alert and analytical. He saw something, but Mikey couldn’t figure out what. It wasn’t like the waiter was looking at something on his face, it was like he was scanning him, taking him in.

Eh, Mikey thought, he was probably just wondering if he recognized him from somewhere…or disgusted by the snack his older brother had once invented when their mom refused to make dinner one night.

“Okay. I’ll check back in a few minutes.” He crept away from the table slowly, almost backing away. Yeah, he had to be nauseated at the thought of slimy, coffee-sugar-bread.

“Hey, waiter,” Mikey said, instantly drawing the fatigued man back. “I got this one for you. You look like you need it.” He slid the other cup to the edge of the table with the back of his hand and almost laughed at the way the man stared at it. “You get to go home soon?” Mikey asked with a forced smile when Frank finally took the cup.

“N-no, not soon, not really,” Frank responded, taking a sip of the coffee instantly even though it was so hot. 

“Get a break soon?” Frank shook his head. “What time did you get here?” He didn’t know why he kept asking, maybe to sympathize with the stranger, maybe to distract himself from his own sadness. 

“About four thirty.”

“Shit. When do you leave?” The waiter shrugged.

“About seven or so.” Mikey felt his jaw go slack. No wonder the guy was fucking tired. “I’ll give you a few more minutes to look over your menu.” He crept away successfully into the kitchen, taking small sips from his coffee the whole time.

Frank the Waiter never came back to take his order, someone else did—his regular waitress who greeted him as if they were friends. At first Mikey thought that someone had let the poor guy go home, but then he spotted him across the diner waiting on someone else. He almost felt like he had been cheated on.

He ate his lunch deliberately slowly, accepting refills on his coffee and then ordering another for Frank who he saw trip with an entire tray of—thankfully—empty plates. Only one of them broke, but the man still stared at the mess in horror until one of the customers helped him stand back up. 

Unable to control it, as his meal reached its end, Mikey stared at the seat across from him and thought about how his brother should’ve been there. Frank returned to give him his bill and to collect his plates and thanked him for the coffees with a horribly forced smile. Mikey found he didn’t have it in him to say anything else to the guy. He just stared at the other seat as he got up from his own and thought about why anyone would want to hurt Gerard…

“Happy birthday, Gee,” Mikey mumbled, not caring if the waiter heard or not as he left his tip on the table and started for the check-out counter. He felt the waiter’s eyes on his back, and then heard someone call for Frank from the kitchen, waking the man from his trance. 

Mikey felt bad for the poor fuck, but there wasn’t much he could do, now was there?

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray looked up from the game of cards he and Gerard had been playing at the kitchen table when Frank stormed in. He slammed the apartment door behind him and didn’t give the guests of his house a passing glanced as he darted into his bedroom.

“Thanks, Ray, you can go home,” Frank choked out before slamming his bedroom door as well. Gerard stood up before Ray could, obviously wanting to chase his new object of affection down and seduce him with put-on concern. Ray got up quickly and followed him, grabbing him by his wrist and pulling him away from the bedroom door quickly.

He didn’t need to say anything. He and Gerard locked eyes and that was enough.

“Frank, you okay?” Ray asked, ignoring the spiteful look Gerard was giving him. 

“Just go home! For god’s sake, just leave me alone.” Ray sighed and moved away from the bedroom door, not wanting to hear the choked back sobs.

“Call me if you need anything,” Ray said empathetically, looking at Gerard who was eagerly waiting for Ray to disappear so he could invade that bedroom without fear of being pulled back. With a sigh of pain, Ray left the apartment, wondering what was going to happen in his absence, and hoping that Frank could get to sleep before he broke.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank lay on his bed, trying to get his body to stop shaking and just relax. He was home, he could sleep. He was hungry, but there wasn’t time for that if he wanted to make it to tomorrow. He couldn’t stop the sobs that were tearing through him, momentarily overcome by his exhaustion and self-pity. No one could expect him to do this—to work for fifteen hours serving bitching customers and answering to irate coworkers whom he always seemed to be in the way of. 

And he had to do it all again in exactly eight hours. A particularly loud sob escaped him and he rolled onto his stomach, burrowing into his pillow and hoping it would smother him to death. He heard his bedroom door click open and sighed brokenly—as awful as it was, Gerard was the last person he wanted to see.

“Frank? Are you okay?” The man crept up to the bed and sat down beside him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Frank tried to say something, but it came out as a whine, his mouth beyond forming words. Fifteen hours of work, an hour and a half of sleep—he couldn’t do this. “Poor thing,” Gerard said, something conniving about his tone and the way he pulled Frank’s shoulder so that he lay on his back.

“Stop,” Frank panted, feeling himself grow faint as if he’d been drugged. Gerard didn’t listen; he reached out his hand to wipe the bangs off of Frank’s face with too-gentle fingers. “Gerard—” Frank’s words turned into frantic, soft moans as Gerard forced their mouths together, his tongue instantly invading Frank’s mouth. All Frank could think as it was happening was that Ray had been right. He had underestimated Gerard—he was dangerous. The thought made him burst into heavy tears that he no longer saw purpose in trying to fight. 

Weakly, he tried to push Gerard’s hands away as they traced down his chest and settled on his belt. He made desperate sounds of protest, but couldn’t free his mouth long enough to form words. Was it a crime that he was too compassionate to bite the other man’s tongue? His squirming and whimpers got him nowhere, but he could hardly find it in himself to care. He was so tired—maybe he’d black out and forget the whole thing ever happened by the time his alarm went off at three.

Frank whined shrilly when Gerard freed their lips and moved his focus to the button of Frank’s pants, undoing it with ease and then slowly tugging down the zipper. Gerard wasn’t deterred at all by his rescuer’s halfhearted sobs. He watched Gerard make short work of the waistband of his boxers, the only thing left that kept him from being exposed to the man he’d saved. 

“Don’t,” he pleaded in between whimpers. “Please, Gerard.” He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see what Gerard would do next—rip his clothes the rest of the way off? Expose himself?

“Shh,” Gerard said, returning his mouth to Frank’s and kissing him deeply. Frank sobbed, not understanding why this had to be happening to him, why he had to become the victim in order for Gerard to be happy. He’d told Ray that he didn’t care if Gerard raped him, that was true in some respects—but he wished that it didn’t have to be today. 

“No,” Frank moaned out as Gerard moved his mouth to his neck and began sucking gently, one hand moving to grasp Frank’s member firmly. “Please, Gerard, don’t!” Frank’s sobs became frantic and throaty again as Gerard abandoned his neck and tugged more of the fabric that pooled around Frank’s groin away to expose more of him. “Please don’t,” Frank whimpered as Gerard stroked him again. “No.” He writhed on the bed—it was the most he could do to escape since his energy had been drained. “I can’t, I don’t have anything,” he whimpered. “It’ll just hurt me—please.” Gerard shushed him again and Frank closed his eyes tightly, more wounded by the lack of sympathy than what he knew Gerard was planning to do.

And then his desperate sobs turned into an involuntary cry of pleasure when Gerard’s hot mouth closed around his length. It was wrong—all of this was wrong, but he liked it. As tired as he was, he _needed_ it. Gerard’s teeth scraped along the over-sensitive skin and left Frank unable to make any sounds at all, his throat completely constricted. 

He fisted the blankets, completely losing himself in the blackness of his fatigue and the white flashes of pleasure that were overcoming his vision of the ceiling. 

“Gerard,” he moaned out, his sobs dissipating as he realized that this was all that was going to happen to him. “Gerard, you don’t have to do this.” His words turned into a stifled moan as Gerard deep-throated him before concentrating more on the head and gently fisting the base.

Words were beyond him after that, too absorbed in the heat around his dick and the tightness that was pulling at his stomach far too quickly. He felt two forces rush him at once, one of pleasure and one of exertion. God how he wished they both didn’t hit him at once.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard didn’t even consider swallowing. He spat what filled his mouth onto the floor and looked at Frank with both affection and sternness—trying to say “I love you, but I’m not eating that”. His message was lost when he realized that Frank was no longer even awake. He whined softly and redid the button and zip of Frank’s jeans before crawling up to lay beside his unconscious master…lover. 

His lover. 

He was about to fall asleep himself, thinking about how truly awful Frank had sounded when begging him not to do what he’d done… If he’d had other intentions besides a blowjob, he would’ve stopped. He didn’t like seeing Frank like that. Seeing Frank in the same state that he had been reduced to so often with his very first master. Pleading for mercy that was never going to be granted. Yes, he was about to fall asleep when he heard the phone ring in the kitchen. 

Frank didn’t even stir, he was too far gone. 

With a growl, Gerard pulled himself up from the bed and stormed into the room, wanting whoever was calling to die. It didn’t matter if Frank told him not to answer the phone—he was going to this time. He was going to give whoever was on the line hell. 

“Hello?” He asked harshly.

“Hello? Is, uh, is Frank there?”

“Frank’s a little tired,” Gerard growled. “He worked fifteen hours today and he has to get up at three if he wants to be at work on time tomorrow.”

“Well this is John, his boss,” the man on the other line said, as if that would somehow change Gerard’s demeanor.

“Oh, so this is your fault then?” Gerard spat. A small corner of his brain told him that he was going to get Frank fired, but a larger part said that working Frank so mercilessly had to be some sort of abuse and that this man needed to pay for what he’d done.

“Can you put Frank on the phone please?” The man asked, sounding as irritable as Gerard.

“Frank can’t come to the phone because of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“He fainted.”

“Fai—whatever. Can you take a message for me then?”

“Perhaps,” Gerard said, taking in the confused little choke that the man emitted. 

“Just tell him that we found someone who will be in tomorrow morning for training and that he doesn’t need to come in until eight.”

“What time can he come home?” Gerard asked. “He’s sick now. He can’t work for very long.” There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, but Gerard wasn’t concerned. 

“We were thinking that we were going to let him work until three. Is that alright with you?”

“It sounds fair,” Gerard said, letting his tone of voice relax. “I’ll tell him when he comes to.”

“Did he really faint?” 

“He came home, went to his room, and fell,” Gerard lied calmly. “He didn’t make it to bed.”

“Christ…tell him we appreciate what he did today.”

“I will,” Gerard said, looking over his shoulder because he heard movement in the bedroom. “I have to go now. I want to make sure he’s still breathing.” He hung up without waiting for an answer and crept back into the bedroom where Frank sat on the bed, looking a little better than before but still flushed and teary-eyed. “Frank?”

“Gerard, I need to call off work, can you bring me the phone? I can’t do it tomorrow. I don’t care if they fire me.”

“I just got off the phone with your boss, John.” Frank looked at him in horror.

“Gerard, I told you not to use the phone,” he whined as he lay back down on the bed. 

“He called and you didn’t wake up. He says you work eight to three tomorrow, but you can leave early if you don’t feel well. I told him you were sick—”

“What did you say to him exactly?” Frank asked, groaning in either exhaustion or distress, Gerard didn’t know which.

“…Hello,” Gerard answered calmly, crawling onto the bed beside Frank and laying his thigh on Frank’s hip gently. He liked being close with someone like this again. “And that you couldn’t come to the phone because you’d fainted.”

“When did I…oh, God,” Frank groaned loudly and pushed Gerard’s leg off of him. “Gerard, why did you do that?” He covered his face with his hands and sighed loudly, almost as if angry at himself.

“You needed rest—you were crying. I knew it would help.” He pulled Frank’s hands away and forced the man to look at him before touching their lips together again. “Don’t feel bad. You couldn’t stop me.” Gerard smiled and cuddled close to his new lover, claiming him and ready to attempt to take more from him, but willing to wait until he could keep his eyes open. “I love you,” he said softly as Frank’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Don’t let me…oversleep,” Frank sighed back. Gerard pulled him close and kissed his damp eyes gently before touching their noses together and closing his own eyes for sleep. Frank was beautiful…merciful…and so easily broken.


	8. Leaving You

Gerard whimpered helplessly, trying to move his legs to hide himself after being stripped naked and having his arms bound behind his back and tied to a convenient support beam in the cold basement of the house. From the way he was tethered, he couldn’t drop down or even squirm away from the touches that made his skin tremble. His assailant held him by his head, forcing him to look him in the eye. Every time Gerard would dart his eyes away to examine the wall, his head would be shaken painfully until he looked back.

“Look at me, Baby, come on,” the man said with a chuckle that left Gerard close to tears. He’d been here two days now, and already he was broken from the pain and humiliation he’d been forced to endure in that short amount of time. “Come on, whore!” The man shook Gerard by his head until those pained eyes met his feebly. “Worthless bitch.” He released Gerard’s head in order to cock his hand back to slap him, making the teenager cry out in fear and pain. “Look at me!” He grabbed the boy’s head again and this time Gerard complied easily, tears threatening to fall. “Aw, Baby, don’t cry,” the man said, laughing as if he’d been told the world’s funniest joke.

“Please,” Gerard whimpered. “Just let me go.” He was slapped again, and then punched in the stomach, unable to even hunch into himself from the pain because of his bindings. 

“Fucking whore! You’re not getting out of here! Quit fucking pushing it! You want your tongue cut out? That’s what you’re going to get if you ask me one more time, you fucking slut! Worthless crack-whore!” Gerard shuddered more from the angry voice and insults than the threat. “Cum-slut! Shut your mouth!” Gerard’s head was forced to the side when he was slapped across the jaw, making him cry out again. “Are you going to ask again?” Gerard shook his head quickly, making eye contact in an attempt to avoid getting beaten. “Are you going to fucking ask again, you cum-whore!?” He fisted his hand in Gerard’s hair in order to pull his head back and expose his throat.

“No!” Gerard sobbed, tears falling from his eyes and staining his face. “No—I’m sorry!” 

“Sorry? _Sorry?_ Sorry, _what_ , you fucking, idiotic fag! You worthless slut!” Gerard broke down sobbing, hardly able to breathe in between the bursts of tears. “Sorry, what!?”

“Sorry, Master!” Gerard stammered, crying harder as the word passed his lips. “I’m sorry, Master! I’m sorry!” He screamed as a too-rough hand slapped his legs apart and began to fondle him. “M-Master, I’m sorry—so sorry, Master. Master, Master, so sorry…” He began to shake when the hand moved lower to caress only his inner thigh.

“Hush, Baby. Hush.” Gerard closed his eyes tightly as the hands all left him, then he ducked his head in fear of being struck for closing them. “I’m going to go get the toys, Baby, and then I’m going to come back and play with you.” Gerard whimpered loudly in terror and dread before sobbing again. “And if you’re still bawling when I get back, I’m going to keep playing with you until you pass the fuck _out_.” His master stomped away, leaving Gerard alone and terrified—too scared to even close his legs again or open his eyes. He tried to slow his breathing and bite back his sobs, but it wasn’t working. The more he tried, the more afraid he became of what new toy his kidnapper could possibly have.

By the time the man returned, Gerard still hadn’t stopped his tears.

“Aw, Baby…I guess you really want me to play with you tonight.” Gerard opened his eyes nervously, hoping to see humor on his captor’s face that would mean he really wasn’t going to be tortured to his mind’s breaking point. 

All he got was a black duffel bag full of solid objects smacking into his head, thrown at him by his irate keeper.

“You just need to learn to shut your fucking mouth before someone gives it a much better purpose! I don’t have time to be down here all fucking night with a useless little slut like you! You couldn’t just pull yourself together, could you, whore!? _Could you!?_ ”

“I’m sorry, Master!” Gerard sobbed, shaking in fear as the man came up to him to collect the bag and move it to a more functional location.

“Sorry?” The man spat, abandoning the bag to slap his slave’s face four brutal times in a row. “Sorry is never _fucking_ good enough!” Gerard moaned in pain and left his head hanging limply. “Open your mouth one more time tonight and see where it gets you! Gonna scream for mommy and daddy? Well they ain’t comin’, kid. And do you know why?—because no one wants a crack-head for a son! You’re worthless! They’re glad you’re gone! Even if they were right outside my goddamned door and heard you crying your goddamned _ass_ off, they wouldn’t bother to call the cops to come get you! They don’t want you, cum-whore! No one wants you!” Gerard sobbed again because it was true. No one wanted him—and anyone who did just wanted to hurt him. “I said to shut your mouth!” He was slapped again and lost his self-control. Despite his fear, the pain took over him and he wept with an inability to block out the moans of despair. “You really don’t know when to quit it, do you?” 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank woke up because someone was screaming, the noise jarring him to a premature consciousness and making him sit up straight in bed to find the cause. Gerard was lying in bed next to him, crying out as if being burnt and clawing at his face with his hands. 

“Shit!—Honey?” Frank tried to pull Gerard’s hands away, but it only made him scream louder. “Honey? Honey? Shh, what’s wrong? What’s wrong, Baby, shh. Please, what’s the matter?” He managed to pin the man’s hands to his sides, not sure if it was a good idea or a bad one, and noticed even in the sparse light of the early morning that Gerard’s eyes were still closed tightly. “Gerard? Honey?” The cries grew shrill as the man tried violently to get himself free, unaware of who it was or what that person’s intentions were—Frank understood that he was still asleep, caught somewhere in a flashback or nightmare. “Sweetie, please! Please, wake up! Nothing’s happening!” He released one of Gerard’s hands in order to touch the man’s face, stroking his cheek gently to get him to open his eyes. The screams just intensified and became tattered with sobs. “Gerard! Gerard, please, sweetheart, please! Wake up! Just wake up!” The screams broke into loud sobs that jolted the victim’s body, but didn’t wake him up. “Please, Gerard. Come on. Wake up, baby, wake up.” 

Following a heartbreaking wail, Gerard’s eyes finally pulled open, tainted with horror and agony. 

“Master! Master, please!” Gerard tugged at the hand that Frank still had pinned and Frank released it quickly. “I’m sorry, Master—please don’t!” He screamed again and covered his face with his hands, no longer scratching but just burying himself in them. 

“Gerard—baby, please—”

“No!” The word turned from a cry into a scream as Gerard rolled onto his side to protect himself from whatever threat he was envisioning. “Master, I can’t!”

“Gerard! Wake up!” Frank pleaded, shaking Gerard’s shoulder and hoping it would somehow help. “Gerard, sweetie, it’s Frank, honey—don’t be scared.” Gerard screaming faded into sobs again, but he moved his hands and looked at Frank worriedly. 

“Frank?” Gerard repeated, his voice raw.

“Yes,” Frank whispered back, suddenly finding himself out of breath. “Yes, it’s just me.” He reached out and tentatively petted Gerard’s hair, sighing when he felt Gerard’s body relax. 

“Frank—he’s here…in the apartment.”

“No,” Frank said calmly. “He’s not here. It’s okay. No one’s here but me and you.” Gerard shook his head as if he didn’t believe him and sobbed. 

“I’m sorry, Master,” Gerard sobbed. “I didn’t mean to wake you up—I know you’re tired! I’m sorry!” He began to cry in the same frantic way as before, making Frank cry out in confusion. “I know sorry isn’t good enough but, _please_ , please forgive me!”

“Gerard, it’s okay!” Frank pleaded, petting Gerard’s hair a little more firmly. “Shh, please. It’s okay, don’t cry—don’t cry. You’re scaring me, don’t cry anymore.”

“Master, I shouldn’t have done that to you last night!” Gerard wailed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Master—I’m sorry! Master, I didn’t mean to make you cry! I just wanted to help you and it was the only way I knew how! Please, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, no, no, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m not mad—I promise. I promise I’m not mad. Shh. Shh.” He nudged Gerard until he could get him to sit up and then embraced him tightly.

“I’m sorry, Master—a good whore should never do that, please don’t be mad.” Frank’s heart broke and he leaned his head down on Gerard’s shoulder. Maybe when Gerard calmed down he’d remember where he was, maybe he’d remind himself that no one owned him, but until then just hearing those words tore a wound open in Frank’s chest. He was relapsing horribly from one nightmare—he knew who Frank was through his stupor, but still thought he was a slave. 

“ _I’m not mad_ ,” Frank reassured quietly, holding him a little tighter and trying to fight back the painful feelings that were stabbing his chest. “But, Gerard, you’re not a whore. Those days are over—I’m not your master.” Gerard lifted his arms to hug back and nuzzled Frank’s shoulder. “You don’t have a master…you’re free now. You’re safe, sweetie. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Master, it hurts,” Gerard whimpered. 

“What does?” Frank asked calmly, leaning away from the hug to look over Gerard’s face. Through the superficial scratches, he still looked half gone…

“ _There_ ,” Gerard half whispered, half cried. “Where he hurt me—please, Master. It hurts!” Frank closed his eyes tightly, thinking of everything he needed to do and everything he couldn’t understand how to reply to. “It really hurts, Master—can you make it stop? Please, Master, _please?_ ” Frank slid away from him, sighing deeply and steadying himself. “Master?”

“I’m not your master, Gerard. And you’re not hurt…no one’s hurt you. It was a nightmare.” He got up from the bed and switched on the lamp, hoping that the light would somehow dispel the damage in Gerard’s mind. 

“Master, it happened,” Gerard whimpered.

“I know,” Frank said, meeting his broken gaze and sighing again. “You were having a flashback…It happened a long time ago. Remember, I told you, you’re free. You don’t have a master, and no one is allowed to touch you without your permission. You’re only with me so I can get you ready to go home.”

“Master, he trained me—serving you, it’s all I know how to do. Don’t sell me—I’ll never have anyone as nice to me as you are, Master!” Frank took in the look of rejection on his companion’s face and shook his head. “Master, without you I’m worthless!”

“Gerard, you’re not worthless!”

“Master, I really am!” Gerard blurted out, blinking rapidly and making more tears fall. Frank sighed heavily and started for the door, ignoring the quiet whimpers that chased after him. “Master? _Master!?_ ”

Frank started for his office, aiming to find the phonebook because no average person had the local police station’s phone number memorized by heart. He tried not to think about it, not to think about what the implications of his actions would be or how he and Gerard would be treated when they entered the brick building…he didn’t want to talk himself out of it.

Everything had gone on long enough. Gerard wasn’t getting better—he was staying the same if not getting worse. It was like Ray said…like Ray predicted. He was dangerously possessive, he had a bad attitude, and he would relapse over and over… Frank wasn’t qualified to fix him. There was nothing he could do.

He flipped through the phonebook and found the number he needed, taking in a shaky breath as he tried not to listen to Gerard calling for him from the bedroom, occasionally switching up “master” for “Frank” in hopes of getting what he wanted that way. 

Phonebook in hand, he went to the house phone in the kitchen, preparing to dial when a loud, firm knock on his door made his heart stop.

“Police Department, open up.” Frank dropped the phone on the counter with a loud crash that scared him almost as bad as the cops did. Of course they would be here—Gerard had been screaming and he lived in an apartment complex. 

“C-coming!” Frank called, setting down the phonebook and moving to the door quickly. The longer they had to wait, the more irate the cops would become. He unlocked the door and pulled it open all of the way, making sure to back a step away from it once it was opened so the officers could see he was unarmed not trying to escape from a crime scene. 

“We received some complaints of screaming from this apartment,” one of the two officers said, a man who looked peaceable enough. There weren’t loaded guns being pointed at his head, either, so Frank was able to calm some of his racing nerves. His heart felt like it was about to explode, and his skin was prickling with sweat, but otherwise he thought he’d make it ‘til sun-up.

The other police officer was a woman. Just having her there calmed some of Frank’s nerves as well. In the stores, Gerard never got upset by the women. He’d pass them sad glances—almost longing glances—but never responded with fear or anger. Perhaps she would be able to get through to Gerard.

“Can you come inside?” Frank asked surveying the hall where his neighbors peeked out accusingly from cracked doors. “There’s something I need to tell you and it’s going to take a minute.” The two officers looked at each other and then started inside, looking the place over every step they took. 

“You want to turn a light on?” The woman asked, glancing towards the bedroom, the only lit room besides the office, where Gerard could not be seen or heard. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Frank stammered, having trouble finding the light switch in his own home. 

“Some of your neighbors reported ‘frantic screaming’ coming from your apartment. Almost as if someone was being attacked—are you alone?” The male officer asked. Frank looked at him, trying to tell himself to just be calm and act less suspicious so he wouldn’t end up with his head smashed into the floor and his hands in cuffs. 

“No,” he answered. “There’s someone in my bedroom, or—or _was_ he—he moves around really fast without me noticing.” Then he realized he sounded like someone having a bad acid-trip. The officers shared another glance and then the male nodded to the woman and she started in the direction of the bedroom. “He woke up screaming—he has nightmares, uh, terrors... _flashbacks_.” 

“So he was the one screaming?” Frank nodded. 

“There’s no one there,” the female officer said, returning from the bedroom. They both looked at Frank critically, the male’s peaceful nature going straight down the drain.

“Gerard,” Frank whispered, turning his head in two directions at once, trying to figure out where he would have gone. 

“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”

“No,” Frank answered, watching as the woman began a slow search of the rooms of his apartment, starting in the kitchen, going to the bathroom, and finally searching the guestroom. She must’ve found him, otherwise she was schizo and talked to herself.

“So your roommate was having nightmares and woke himself screaming?” The male asked. 

“He’s not my roommate,” Frank said, taking in a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you about him.” 

“Sir, if you’d just say it, you would make this a lot easier.” Frank closed his eyes and felt himself getting dizzy. All he could imagine was being thrown against the wall and having his hands cuffed. It was going to hurt…and then they were going to parade him out of the building. Gerard, too… 

Oh, God. Frank didn’t think Gerard could handle that.

“He’s…I… I—I… He’s—uhm…” Frank swore under his breath and tried to catch the officer’s eye, wondering if maybe he could transfer his knowledge into the man’s head without speaking. How the fuck did you tell someone you bought a sex slave and _not_ sound guilty.

“Is he a prostitute?” The officer asked. Frank heard Gerard’s voice from the guestroom/office and sighed before shaking his head. “Sir, is he a prostitute?” 

“No. He’s…” Frank exhaled quickly and felt himself grow lightheaded again. How did he say this? How did you say this? “If I start, can you let me finish before you…before you arrest me?” Frank asked, knowing he was digging himself a lovely hole for his own execution. 

“Do you need to take a seat?” The officer asked, becoming polite again as he expected to be told a great crime confession that would no doubt earn him a nice paycheck. 

Frank nodded and tripped over to his couch, collapsing on it but raising up his hands defensively to show he hadn’t picked up any weapons from the cushions. He didn’t care if he got arrested anymore, he just didn’t want shot.

“Now, what do you need to say?” From his seat, Frank could see Gerard sitting on the couch, the female officer kneeling in front of him. He looked so nervous, but still somehow together, like he’d managed to calm himself back down.

“That’s Gerard Way,” Frank said, looking at the floor instead of the officer. 

“Gerard Way?” The officer repeated, the name having no meaning to him. Frank nodded. “He’s a missing person from about eight years ago.”

“Did you partake in the kidnapping?” The officer asked, taking on the tone a parent would use on a child who had done nothing more than steal a cookie.

“Eight years ago, I was eleven,” Frank answered, looking up and trying to look sincere, so the officer didn’t think he’d become sarcastic and in need of a mouthful of carpet. The officer didn’t say anything, just motioned for Frank to carry on. “Um, almost a week ago I found him and brought him here to live…I didn’t know who he was, but I knew he was…was a missing person.” 

“You knew he was a missing person?” The officer repeated. Frank nodded. “And why did you keep him? Is he your sex slave?” Frank shook his head rapidly, terrified by the fact that they had caught on so quickly. “No?”

“Please believe me!” Frank cried out. “I went to this bar because I won some money in the lottery—I was going to buy beer for everyone to celebrate, but I didn’t know the place and when I went in it was sex-trafficking ring! They were going to kill him so I bought him! I really haven’t done anything to hurt him and I was going to turn him in!” He didn’t want to go to prison for this—he’d just been trying to help Gerard out. But who was going to believe that? Only an idiot would believe that!

“Why didn’t you come to the police right away?” The officer asked, very skeptical by now.

“At first I was afraid that they were going to follow me—the sellers, the—the _owners._ I didn’t want killed, I was afraid they’d kill me. I’d never been there before and they knew it. They didn’t recognize me.”

“And once you got home, you didn’t call.” Frank shook his head.

“It was really stupid, but I thought I could somehow rehabilitate him before he went home. He’s so scared—please, when you take him, just be nice, okay? He gets so scared.” Frank buried his face in his hands and tried to pull himself back together. He needed to stay in one piece if he was going to talk his way out of this—if he was going to make them understand.

“You wanted to rehabilitate him? How?” Frank shook his head.

“I don’t know. He was so messed up—he just called me Master, he wouldn’t do anything unless I told him he could—he just kept saying he wanted his master back, the one who sold him. I got him to stop calling me master, but then he started again tonight when he woke up. He’d been having flashbacks. Just don’t hurt him, please?”

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Frank suddenly became aware that Gerard was watching him. The man looked terrified. “Sir, does anyone else know about this?” Frank nodded and turned his eyes away from Gerard’s.

“I called my friend Ray to ask him to watch him because I had to work for so long yesterday. Gerard gets lonely…I didn’t want him to be lonely.”

“You didn’t have your friend here to keep him from leaving while you were away?” Frank shook his head. 

“The night I brought him here I left him alone so I could get him coffee. He wanted coffee. I asked if he wanted to go and he wouldn’t. I told him he could leave but he was still here when I got back.”

“You do understand that men and women in these situations develop a slave mentality and won’t leave?” Frank nodded.

“I know. I know it sounds like a lie, but I swear I was just about to call you and turn myself in. When he woke up he relapsed—he wouldn’t stop calling me master and begged me not to sell him and he kept saying he was worthless and trained to serve me and it started to get me all fucked up. I can’t take it—I can’t fix him.”

“Sir, we’re going to have take you in for questioning—”

“I know,” Frank said quickly. “But please, _please_ just don’t hurt him. If you even yell he’ll get upset.”

“Sir, we have no intentions of hurting him.”

“But the handcuffs—if you put them on too tight, it’ll hurt him. He’s—”

“Calm down. We’re not going to hurt him.” The officer left Frank for a moment to peer into the office where Gerard sat on the couch, talking to the woman quietly, fearfully. The officer introduced himself, but got no answer from Gerard. “We’re going to take you and your friend down to the police station with us to answer a few questions.”

“Please, don’t be mean to Frank! He hasn’t hurt me! He’s the only one who hasn’t hurt me—him and Ray. Please! He’s not a bad guy—I can tell you where the bad ones are if you promise not to hurt him!” Frank sighed, wanting to get up and go to Gerard to tell him he didn’t need to worry about him, but knew if he moved he was going to get jumped and accused of trying to escape…or worse, trying to tamper with the victim. 

“Frank has been very cooperative. We don’t have any intention hurt him. We’re just going to ask the two of you some questions—”

“Can I stay with him? He needs me! He gets worried when he’s not with me.” The officer passed Frank a strange look over his shoulder—one that almost asked if he were the true slave, if he was being forced to act as master so the real kidnapper could get away.

“I’ll tell you what. You can ride together down to the station, but when we get there we have to question you separately.”

“After that?” Gerard asked nervously. “Can I see him after that?”

“That depends on how the interrogations go.” That was the wrong thing to say…

“Interrogations—no! You can’t do that to Frank! He didn’t do anything! Please, he’ll answer anything you ask, you don’t have to put him through that! Please! He worked for fifteen hours yesterday—he’s tired! Please!”

“Sir, sir, calm down. It’s not like you see on television. He’s going to be okay.” Gerard made a noise that didn’t sound like he was convinced. 

( ) ( ) ( )

What perturbed the cops more than anything was that Frank Iero, the man in question, seemed more upset about the situation than the suspected sex slave that identified himself as “Gerard Way”. It could actually be said that “Gerard” acted like the criminal—he answered the questions he was asked, but with a great deal of bitterness and sarcasm, occasionally breaking into fits of rage or sudden sadness. Frank, on the other hand, answered every question in almost ridiculous detail, not forgetting to fall into traps of guilt and self-loathing. 

If he didn’t seem so sincere, and if his story and the story of “Gerard” didn’t coincide so well, the interrogating officer would’ve believed Frank to be guilty…but of what?

Technically, what he’d done didn’t fit under the “kidnapping” headline, nor did it fit with “false imprisonment”. He’d left his apartment without taking any measures to keep the victim there… They could very well charge him with human trafficking, but what he’d done seemed more like an act of charity than an intent to cause harm to another human being.

To be honest, the police didn’t want to charge him for anything other than the bottle of beer they found in his refrigerator when they’d raided his home later that morning. Minor in Possession of Alcohol… But for one bottle of beer it hardly seemed necessary, and any lawyer who would get involved would immediately point out that “Gerard” was over 21. And so was “Roger Casey” whose personal information the officers had uncovered in the apartment.

As it turned out, Roger Casey was a real life man in Colorado who didn’t know that his identity had been stolen to aid in a sex-ring.

Yes, the police could have charged Mr. Frank Iero with forgery or identity theft, but he’d used the false information to fix a seriously abscessed tooth—and he’d paid the bill himself, causing no harm to befall the real Roger Casey. 

Everyway they looked at it, he seemed innocent—like a Good-Samaritan just trying to help someone in need. He did, however, knowingly purchase a slave…but what it all came down to was that he never _forced_ the man to stay. Even “Gerard” admitted that. 

“I could fucking leave. The door was right fucking there. I could’ve left, but I like him. It’s nice there. Why would I leave the first place where someone was nice to me in eight goddamned years? I mean, yeah, I thought about it, but what the fuck? He kept saying he was going to go to the cops. Why would I do it myself? With my luck, I’d take two fucking steps onto the street and get grabbed again—then where would I be? Fucked.” He’d laughed the way a child would and leaned back in the metal chair. 

Frank Iero wasn’t keeping “Gerard Way” hostage, and he wasn’t making the man work or perform sexual acts—or at least no acts had been confessed to, a body exam would be needed to prove that fact—so he was really just…obstructing justice by keeping his mouth shut.

And he even had a reason for that—he didn’t want killed.

So unless “Gerard Way” confessed that something awful had happened to him in Frank’s care, or his body exam proved that he was lying, there was a high probability that Frank was going to walk out the door with either a fine or a metaphoric slap on the wrist. 

…And then the dental records came in, the ones belonging to the real Gerard Way and the ones from “Roger Casey”, and the medical examiner discovered the happy news for Mr. and Mrs. Donald Way. “Gerard Way” really was Gerard Way, even if probing him for personal information in a second interrogation got the investigators nowhere. 

“Do you have a brother?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell us what his name is?” Gerard had stared at the table in silence, growing visibly sadder by the second. “What about your parents, Gerard? Do you remember their names?”

“Mom and Dad,” Gerard answered, and shrugged, still staring at the table. Then he looked up suddenly with eyes too deep to look directly into. “Are they still alive? Mom and Dad and M—” He dragged out the M, trying to remember the name of his brother, but becoming frustrated and sighing when he couldn’t. “—my brother?” He began to smile when he was told that they were. 

“Gerard, can you tell us again if you had any sexual contact with Frank, the man you were staying with.” Gerard glared then, becoming almost frightening with his hatred. 

“I said no! I said no the last time, why do you keep asking!? I’m not a fucking liar! Frank wouldn’t do that!”

“Frank stated that—”

“Then he lied!” Gerard shouted, looking distressed and somehow guilty. The investigator had been about to ask a different question when Gerard had lunged into another fit of anger, making the investigator suspicious of him. “Your officers probably tricked him into saying something! I saw it on TV how you trick people into confessing crimes they didn’t commit! I see it! I know! Why would you do it to Frank!?” It took three minutes and eighteen seconds to calm him down again after that. 

“Frank stated that he got your tooth fixed.”

“Yes, because he’s _fucking_ nice. Are you going to make that a crime, too? Are you going to say it’s illegal to help someone who is in so much pain they want to jump out the fucking window!?” Another minute and a half to get him to calm.

“How did he know it was bothering you? He said that you wouldn’t talk to him at first.” Gerard’s seemingly violent mood swings were getting the best of the investigator. Gerard stared down at the table and pulled into himself, looking ashamed, scared, and very much like a beaten dog. “Were you afraid to talk to him, Gerard?” The man with the dyed-black hair nodded slowly. “Can you tell me why?”

“I just…don’t trust…people,” Gerard answered. “I thought he was being nice so he could hurt me. I was scared of him.”

“And why did you stop being afraid of him?”

“He was nice. He said nice things…”

“What kind of things? Did he give you compliments?”

“No,” Gerard answered, suddenly behaving as if he were suspicious of the question, wondering if he was about to be tricked into saying something untrue. 

“Then what things sounded nice to you?”

“Don’t cry. Shh…he bought me coffee.”

“He bought you coffee?” Gerard nodded. 

“The first night. He brought me home and then went out and bought me coffee because I asked if he had any.”

“But if you didn’t speak to him, how could you ask for coffee?” Gerard’s eyes grew dark again.

“He asked what I fucking wanted to drink and I told him fucking coffee! He went and got me coffee! I said one fucking word! That’s hardly a goddamned conversation! Quit calling me a liar, it’s pissing me off! Why don’t you just write down what you want me to say, hu? Then you won’t have to waste time fucking with my head!”

“You need to calm down—”

“No! And you asked how he knew my fucking mouth hurt—well my master told him! The guy who sold me told him! Dave— _fucking_ —Miles told him! And he’s got two other whores in his house right now! And you should be fucking with their heads because they’ll have something to say about our fucking master that you’re just going to fucking love! Ask Joshua if he likes spending all day on his fucking knees! Ask him how he likes taking it in the ass! Ask him how he likes taking my job from me and ruining _everything!_ ” Gerard stopped and his face widened with sudden fear. “Don’t hit me,” he whimpered, and then wrapped his arms around himself protectively. 

“Has Frank ever hit you, Gerard?” Gerard shook his head. “So he hasn’t done anything abusive towards you?”

“No. He’s not like them.”

“Like who, Gerard?” 

“My masters. He’s not like them. He promised he wouldn’t hurt me…”

“Gerard, you were kidnapped eight years ago. Can you tell me about that?”

“So you believe me now?” Gerard spat accusingly. “Or are you just fucking with me some more?”

“We found that your dental records match—we know who you are. So can you tell me about what happened that night?”

“Drugs,” Gerard answered bluntly. “Drugs, and a guy whose name I never learned…sex…drugs.” He made a distressed sound and looked away. 

“You were addicted to drugs?” Gerard nodded. “No drugs were uncovered in Frank’s apartment, are you addicted now?”

“Not anymore. I haven’t done drugs since…that year. My other master—the one who sold me to Frank—he wouldn’t let me have any. I’m very grateful.”

“You said that man’s name was Dave Miles?” Gerard nodded. “And you don’t know the name of the man who kidnapped you.” He shook his head. “Okay.”

“Can I see Frank?” Gerard looked at him sadly, begging with his eyes. 

“I don’t think—”

“Please?” Somehow, Gerard seemed to know that if he made his eyes teary he’d get what he wanted. The investigator was only willing to comply because he was afraid of what another mood swing could bring, and because he’d known that Frank wasn’t getting jailed. “I’ll do anything you want if you let me see him. I’ll even let you put it in my mouth—I won’t bite.” 

“I don’t think so, Gerard. We’re done here. Come on, we’ll take you to the lobby so you can have a more comfortable seat. They called your parents, but before you can be released, we have to take you to the hospital for an exam—”

“What exam?” Gerard snapped, anxiety showing on his face.

“It’s just an external exam to see if there’s any damage to your body resulting from sexual contact—”

“No! I know what you’re thinking of doing and no! You can’t do that! I’m an adult—I said no! No! I don’t want touched! I-I’ll kill them if they touch me!” 

“Gerard, you’re not going to kill anyone. Calm down.”

“I don’t want to go! Don’t do that to me, please! Please! I really don’t want to! I’ll do anything, just don’t!” 

“Gerard, you have to do this—”

“No! _Please!_ I can’t! I can’t!”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Gerard spat, tears falling. “Frank never touched me! I raped him, okay!? I raped him! So don’t do that to me!” Alerted by the shouting, the door to the room opened and two officers peered in. The investigator went to them and fed them several questions to ask the other man in question and then told them it was okay to leave. Gerard watched them, almost as if hoping they’d come take him somewhere else, even if it was a holding cell. 

“Gerard, what did you mean when you said you raped Frank?” The investigator asked, sighing because he knew he’d be here even longer now.

“When he came home from work he was crying,” Gerard said harshly. “He’d been working so long—he was so tired—but he wouldn’t sleep because he was so upset. I just wanted to calm him down.”

“And you offered to have sex with him so he would sleep?” Gerard nodded and then immediately shook his head.

“I didn’t ask…I just did. He told me to stop, but I was just sucking him off so I knew it didn’t hurt him so I didn’t stop.”

“You gave him oral sex?” Gerard nodded. “And what was his reaction to that?”

“I told you—he told me to stop and he cried and he tried to push me but it didn’t work. I wouldn’t stop—I should have, I feel bad—I just wanted him to sleep.”

Frank’s response to the new set of questions wasn’t surprising. If anything, it made him look even more innocent…look more like the victim.

“I’d just had a long day at work,” Frank mumbled. “I don’t care that he did it…I mean, I wish he hadn’t, I tried to make him stop, but I’m not mad at him or hurt by it. Sex, it’s all he knows. I can’t punish him for that. And to be honest, I don’t really remember what happened because I blacked out. He could’ve done anything to me…but I don’t care. For eight years he was being raped—why do I deserve any better?”

After an hour and a half, the two of them were freed from questioning and allowed to sit in the reception area of the station. For the moment, forcing Gerard to undergo an exam had been postponed. They didn’t want to stress him, and the timelines added up too well. 

Around the time Frank would have arrived home, there had been a phone call from his boss. A stranger answered and said that Frank couldn’t come to the phone because he’d fainted. In the call, the stranger, Gerard, said Frank came home, went into his room and fell—not making it to the bed. This contradicted what he claimed to have happened, that Frank came home and sat on his bed and cried after working a fifteen hour shift at a local diner and feared working the same unbelievable shift the next day, and was then assaulted. 

It still made sense, though, why would Gerard tell Frank’s boss that Frank had passed out after having an orgasm? Gerard proved to be competent and _confident_ enough to manipulate information into his favor.

The information was more valuable than Gerard seemed to think, though. Just by his behaviors and his words, it was obvious that he wasn’t seeing himself as a victim so much anymore. Maybe when awakening from nightmares he remembered that he was nothing more than a slave, but as his current situation sunk in, he took advantage of it perfectly.

Ray Toro, who had also been brought in for questioning, reported several instances of possessive behavior exhibited by Gerard—almost as if _he_ had taken over as “master”. Ray also confessed that Gerard said he was going to make Frank have sex with him before he “threw him out” because he thought Frank was “cute” and that no one could blame him for wanting to. When Ray had attempted to tell Frank these things, Frank had been too fatigued from work to be concerned, and he also didn’t seem to believe that Gerard would actually carry out his plan.

At the end of the mess, the officers decided that if Gerard Way’s parents didn’t wish to pursue a criminal case against Frank Iero and his unwilling “accomplice” Ray Toro, the two would be sent home with a vicious, metaphoric, slap on the wrist. Gerard, however, was a different story.

That kid was going to need a fuck load of counseling…and if he still refused, a stay in a hospital might help.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey wanted to shout out “I told you so! I fucking told you so!” but he stayed quiet and sat on the couch pretending to be in shock. The police called. They’d found Gerard. He was alive. His mom and dad were still holding each other and crying in the kitchen, even though the police told them where they could go to see their son…they were wasting fucking time acting like they hadn’t seen this coming.

God, he mother-fucking told them so.


	9. We'll Never Let You Go

Gerard was sobbing quietly in the room the police had set up for him and his parents to reunite. Frank sat beside him, alternately trying to hold his hand or rub his shoulder gently to offer comfort.

“Frank, I’m scared,” Gerard whimpered softly. “I don’t think I can do this. I—”

“You _can_ ,” Frank insisted in a gentle tone of voice, squeezing Gerard’s hand tightly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yes there is,” Gerard sobbed almost accusingly, pulling his hand away from Frank so he could cover his flushed face. “This isn’t right—you can’t just give me away to them like this!”

“I don’t have a say, sweetheart,” Frank replied quietly, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder soothingly. “This is what has to happen.”

“ _Why!?_ ” Gerard cried out, sniffing loudly and then choking. “I want to stay with you! I don’t know them anymore—I don’t want to know them! I want to be with you!”

“Gerard, you have to go with them. They’re your family. You love them, Gerard, and you know it.”

“They don’t want me!” Gerard screamed suddenly, lowering his hands from his face and turning to look at Frank desperately. The tearstains that were marring his features hardly distracted from the redness of his troubled eyes. “They don’t want me, Frank—please, _please_ , can we just go home?”

“No,” Frank stammered. “Gerard, they _do_ want you—if they didn’t they wouldn’t _be_ here—”

“They don’t want someone like me around! Frank, no one wants a crack-whore for a son! No one wants me! They were glad I was gone, Frank—you can’t do this to me!” Gerard began to sob loudly again, despite Frank’s attempts to comfort him. 

“Gerard, you’re not on drugs anymore—they’ve forgiven you for that, please. Just give them a chance. They’ve missed you so much—the officers said your brother’s even here, Gerard. He came here to see you. Why wouldn’t you want to see him, too?” He didn’t know what else to tell him without making it worse. 

“I can’t even remember his name, Frank! Why would he want a brother that can’t remember his fucking _name!?_ ” There was a knock on the door to the small conference room and the female officer appeared, looking worried and anxious.

“Gerard, your family is ready to come see you now, if _you’re_ ready.” She gave Gerard a sympathetic, understanding look, that somehow said “Please, take your time” and “Please, hurry the fuck up because I don’t want to be here all day” at the same time. Gerard looked at Frank anxiously, wishing the man that served as his master would answer for him like he was supposed to—and say _no_. No, he was not ready, and he’d _never_ be ready. Please, send them away.

He wanted his master to answer…he wanted his master—any of his three masters. They’d keep him safe from things like this. His family couldn’t keep him safe—could never keep him safe. Masters were experts in keeping their belongings safe, secure, and out of harm…harm that wasn’t inflicted by them, at least…punishments.

“Frank, I can’t do this,” Gerard whimpered softly. “Master, I can’t do this,” he repeated, leaning his head over and forcing it against Frank’s shoulder. The officer sighed softly, but remained in the doorway. “Master, please, I can’t look at them.”

“Gerard, please stop calling me your master. It—”

“You are!” Gerard nearly screamed, trying to cling to what he knew—the _only_ thing he knew and understood in the chaos around him. Frank bought him, Frank was master—no matter how horrible he was at that level of authority. Frank was his master, Frank bought him—Frank took responsibility of him—Frank needed to protect him and keep him. He wasn’t _just_ some toy to be given away… He had needs, too…a need to feel secure. “So, Master, _please_ , don’t make me do this!”

“Gerard, you _have_ to. Now come on, they’re here because they want you. If they didn’t want you, they wouldn’t be here! They want you, so they should have you. You should go home—”

“Master, home is with you!”

“No, home is _not_ with me!” Frank voiced firmly, his eyes narrowing in what looked like genuine anger. It made Gerard nervous. “Home is with them. You’re not going to live with me anymore. You’re going home.” Gerard whimpered softly because he wasn’t allowed to answer back to that. Frank had used the commanding tone that he was trained specifically to respond to. There wasn’t compassion lacing every word or outlining every sentence. There was determination, frustration, and no room for compromise. 

Gerard bowed his head and stared at the table, curling his hands into fists and resting them in his lap nervously. Fine. He’d see them. He’d go with them…

_Them_ …He’d only been trained to handle one master—how was he supposed to please and obey three?

And then suddenly he could hear it…could hear him.

Gerard could hear his master…his trainer. He could _hear_ him, and feel him everywhere in the room. Mocking him, scolding him, threatening to punish him, _promising_ to…

Just beyond his voice, he could hear three people shuffle into the room, but he kept his head down on the table so he wouldn’t have to look at them. He heard them pull out the seats across from him, and sit down, but his master’s voice was louder.

“Trying to run away?” Gerard flinched. “What happens when you try to run away? Do you know?” Gerard looked up at the face of the man who owned him, the man who had taken him from his dealer’s home, and shook his head no. You always made eye contact when you answered questions… “Well come here then, Baby, because you’re going to find out…” Gerard followed his master to the basement, the place he feared so much because that was where he went to be punished, and he hadn’t had to go there for a day…almost. 

There was a woman down there, and two other men. The woman was naked, sobbing and strapped to the table that Gerard knew too well. The men were still clothed, watching her and laughing. Her owners...she was their slave. Gerard understood.

“Now, Baby, I don’t just make whores, I end them too. Now you’re gonna see what happens to whores who disobey, Baby. You’re gonna see how we end them—and trust me, Baby, it ain’t pretty. You don’t want it to happen to you.” Gerard didn’t want to watch them torture her to her death, but he didn’t want it to happen to him, so he did. 

He watched them bring hammers down on her legs to break the bones with sickening cracks, watched them violate her one last time, watched them carve her skin, burn her hair and pollute the air with the smoke. 

“And now, Baby, for the part you’re gonna love…” Gerard didn’t know how he heard his master over her screams and wails, or even his own pathetic whimpers, but listened, and backed into the touch he felt appear around his shoulders. It was like an embrace from behind…it made him feel secure.

He watched the woman, afraid of what was going to happen next, what he assumed would be the end of her cries…

He’d been wrong. 

Needles. There were needles. Just looking at them made him dizzy, but he didn’t want to faint. One of the men holding a needle smiled at him and then looked down at the whore who begged him not to hurt her, caught sight of the needle, and screamed shrilly. The man pinned her head, and simultaneously Gerard’s master pinned his, making him face the scene. Slowly, the needle was lowered towards her eye, her eyelids being held open. She thrashed uselessly against the table, trying to turn away but unable to because the other man was holding her head still. Closer, the needle got closer…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard screamed and fell away from the table, hands covering his face quickly as he hit the ground. He kept crying out as if he was in the most horrific pain imaginable, and thrashed until he was able to disappear into his own skin—forehead touching the floor, knees to his chest, and hands folded over his head defensively.

Mikey got to his feet at the same time as Frank the Fucking Waiter, wanting to get to his brother even though the officer observing them told him to stay in his seat, _please_ stay in his seat for his own safety. Well fuck them—Gerard was panicking and no one was helping except for Frank the Mother-Fucking, Slave-Keeping Waiter… and Frank _did_ look concerned. He looked just as worried as Mom and Dad. Maybe Frank was innocent…Mikey didn’t care, though. At that moment, Frank’s involvement meant nothing to him. His world was Gerard.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Master, please no!” Gerard cried out, trying to get out of watching the second needle invade the whore’s other eye. “Please! Master, please! No! I can’t! I won’t run away! Please!” Even though he knew better, he thrashed in his master’s grip and covered his eyes to block out the scene, trying to cover her screams with his own. “No more! Please!” His master forced his hand away from his face and kept him standing even though his legs had given out.

“Stop it, Baby, or I’m gonna make sure you’re sold to a dungeon where they do this shit just for fun. You want to go to a home like that? I can make it happen, Baby—they won’t ever let you die.”

“Master, please!” Gerard sobbed, being forced to see the second needle make contact with the screaming whore’s eye. “Master, Master—I’ll never leave you, I promise! Please!” Gerard’s breathing sped up and wouldn’t stop, white dots starting to take over his vision. 

“Don’t you dare pass out, Baby, or you’ll wake up to this shit.” Gerard screamed, and pushed back against his master, trying to keep his balance as the white flashes turned to darkness. “You don’t wanna pass out, Baby, I’m tellin’ ya.” 

“Master,” Gerard choked out, preparing to plead for mercy but falling away before he got the chance.

( ) ( ) ( )

It was nothing like he remembered when he came to… Part of his mind was screaming at him that he was going to wake up bound to the same table, still wet with the then deceased whore’s blood, something horrible pushed inside of him, and something sharp cutting into his tongue…but still, he felt warm arms around him, holding him tightly. His head was resting on someone’s chest, it moved with each breath and he could even feel the cool air messing strands of his hair. The scent was unfamiliar, and it all seemed so real, even though it was wrong…

He was supposed to be in pain, why was he being soothed?

Gerard pulled his eyes open, afraid he’d end some pleasant dream and see the basement of his master’s house, but instead he saw a warm brick wall with notes taped to it messily… The light of the room stung his eyes and he closed them tightly, turning his face to burry it farther in his…master’s chest?

Then he remembered, he wasn’t with that man anymore, and hadn’t been for years. It had just been a nightmare. He was safe, no needles, no blood, no toy, no tables, just Frank. And Frank would never hurt him.

Gerard made a soft, affectionate sound and pushed himself deeper into the embrace, realizing that he was sitting on the floor with legs on either side of him. It was nice to be held like _this_ again…and by Frank, too.

“I think he’s waking up,” someone said. A voice Gerard didn’t recognize. Then he remembered, Frank’s apartment didn’t have warm brick… Where the hell was he? He had to think for a moment, and then it all came back. Cops. Parents. Nightmares…

He was about to see his parents again when he…must have fainted. There was no other excuse. The next thing he remembered after that was being in his first master’s basement, being forced to watch a whore be tortured to her death. 

Obviously, he’d never left the conference room at the police station. He was still there, and his parents had still come in the room with his brother…

Was it possible the voice belonged to one of them? His dad or…or M…M, his brother’s name started with M, but what was it? 

Gerard leaned more heavily on the body holding him up and sighed before opening his eyes again. He took in the wall of the room, the floor, the bright lights…the black sleeve covering one of the two arms surrounding him.

Black sleeve. Frank hadn’t been wearing black sleeves. Who the fuck was touching him? It wasn’t the sleeve of an officer’s uniform…so was it his mom’s? dad’s? brother’s? It had to be one of them.

He didn’t like it.

But…but he _did_. This embrace was so warm; he felt like he could just live in these arms forever. He wanted to know who this was, but he didn’t want to pull away and look. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey felt his older brother shift in his arms and a smile involuntarily overcame his lips. Gerard was calm now that his terror had passed. He was quiet though, no doubt trying to figure out who was touching him and where he was.

“Gee,” he said as softly as he could. “Are you awake?” His brother only grunted in response, a tired, sluggish sound. “Gee, come on. You need to sit up.” Mikey shifted a little to get Gerard to stop laying on him, but held him securely so he wouldn’t fall over onto the floor—still too sleepy or out of it to support his own weight enough to sit up.

“Mikey,” their mother said, nervously but firmly. “Just—” She shut her mouth when Gerard spoke, silencing whatever suggestion she had. Mikey wouldn’t have listened to her anyway. Why should he take the word of the woman who tried to force him say his brother was dead?

“Mikey,” Gerard repeated. He didn’t sound half asleep, but he still leaned more heavily onto Mikey’s chest. He twisted his head so he could look at Frank, obviously with bright eyes. Mikey could tell, even though he couldn’t see, because Frank the Slave-Owning Waiter instantly looked away from the gaze. He looked to Mikey, as if asking permission to let Gerard look at him. Mikey scoffed and turned his head away, tightening the arms he had wrapped around his brother. He didn’t care if the officers said Frank was innocent. They could have had Gerard a week earlier if it wasn’t for him—they could’ve celebrated his birthday _on time_ if it wasn’t for him, could’ve been fucking _with him_ on his birthday… “Frank, my brother’s name is Mikey.” 

“Yeah,” Frank answered, swallowing hard and looking at the floor. Good, Mikey thought, Frank knew he didn’t have the right to look at Gerard anymore.

“Does he still have glasses?”

“Gerard, why don’t you…look at him and see for yourself,” Frank said nervously, looking at anything but at human faces.

“Why don’t you _fucking_ tell me?” Gerard spat, his anger catching Mikey off guard. Apparently, it caught their parents off guard, too, because they both gasped. Frank the Fucking Waiter didn’t look surprised though.

“Gerard,” Frank said quietly, looking up from the floor and meeting Gerard’s eyes. They seemed to communicate something with their silence, because Gerard turned his head away and pushed against Mikey harder. 

“Sir,” said the female officer who hovered by the doorway. “We’re going to ask that you help him back into his seat…and then take your own.” Mikey figured she was talking to him…especially since no one else was on the floor besides him and Gerard. 

With a sigh, he shifted so that his arms unwound from Gerard, making his older brother grunt in some sort of surprise and discomfort.

“Come on, Gee,” Mikey said quietly, pulling his legs back in order to get them underneath himself so he could stand. Gerard sighed and sat himself upright, lowering his head so that his hair hid any glance of his face that Mikey could’ve gotten. “Your chair’s right here.” Mikey moved so that he knelt on one knee and helped pull Gerard onto his feet, letting his brother keep his back to their parents. 

“Mikey,” Gerard whispered when Mikey tried to guide him to his seat. 

“Yeah,” Mikey mumbled, passing a glance to their father who was staring at the table and caressing his wife’s hand soothingly. 

“Mikey,” Gerard said even softer, moving closer so he could speak, presumably, without their parents overhearing. “What did they say when I went missing?” He lifted his head a little, letting Mikey catch the first glimpse of his eyes. He looked worried, but not sad. After seeing him, Gerard didn’t seem to want to look away. His eyes would dart away for a second and then fixate again on some part of Mikey’s face. 

“That you were going to be in trouble when you got home,” Mikey whispered back. Gerard laughed softly, a very brief laugh, and then looked back at the floor as he let himself drop into his seat. He had his head down again by that time, making their mother sigh softly when she failed to get a look of her oldest son. Sure, she’d caught a brief glance of his face when he’d been in the midst of his panic attack, but it was probably nothing she could even recall in her memory—she’d been starting to panic too. “Don’t worry, though,” Mikey leaned down to whisper, smiling a little even though Gerard wasn’t looking at him. “I think the threat wore off.” Gerard laughed softly again and turned his head just slightly so that he could catch Mikey’s eye. 

Mikey returned to his seat and avoided the looks his parents were suddenly giving him, silently asking what exactly he’d been whispering to Gerard about. 

( ) ( ) ( )

After that little panic stunt, Gerard couldn’t understand how anyone would want him. After all, it was a horrid flashback like the one he’d just experienced that led Frank to get rid of him. He didn’t want to look at his parents’ faces the way he’d wanted to his brother’s—they way he’d had _Mikey’s_. Mikey was his little brother, and Mikey had come to console him after he’d fainted…Not his mom, not his dad, not _Frank_ …Mikey. 

It was all too obvious that Mikey cared more for him than anyone else here. 

Gerard turned his head a little to look at Frank, noting the way Frank refused to look at him. What was he scared of? 

“Frank,” Gerard said quietly, to get the man’s attention. Frank glanced at him very briefly, and then back at the hands he had folded in his lap. “Frank,” Gerard said a little louder. Frank glanced at him again, held his gaze for a fraction of a second, and then dropped it. “Frank!” Gerard called, finally getting the man to look at him and see him.

“Mr. Iero, could you come with me please?” Gerard snapped his eyes towards the female officer and glared at her murderously. Mostly because she was the one who made Frank look away from him in the middle of a _very_ important conversation, and caused him to stand up and attempt to walk by without saying a damned word.

The instant Frank was within reach of him, Gerard grabbed his wrist with enough force for it to _fucking_ hurt and made him stand still. 

“Ow,” Frank grunted. “Gerard, that hurts.” Gerard looked back at the table and held on more securely. “Gerard!” Frank whimpered.

“Sir, it’ll just be for a moment so you and your family can have time _alone_.” The officer’s voice was horridly firm. 

Fuck it. If she was going to be the master that commanded his master, then he guessed he had to listen to her, too.

He threw Frank’s wrist back at him and then folded his arms in front of him on the table. In a matter of seconds, Frank was gone and he heard his mother sigh softly in either relief or frustration. 

At least the officer waited for him to make one ally in the room before stealing his support system from him. At least he had Mikey…right? He did have Mikey, didn’t he?

Gerard groaned softly because he just didn’t know.

“Gerard, Honey?” Gerard sighed softly at the sound of his mother’s voice. He didn’t really remember what she looked like so well beyond blonde hair, but he knew her voice. Apparently, though, Frank’s absence gave her comfort. Who would’ve guessed that the people who had a choice in what happened to him would need help to feel confident?

Gerard turned his eyes to look at Mikey who sat on the other side of their father. Mikey caught his hair-shielded gaze and nodded his head a little. “Talk to her,” Mikey seemed to be saying…telling… _commanding?_

He turned to look at the door where Frank had gone and stared at it emptily, wanting Frank to come back and wondering if he would…would they bring him back if he stared long enough, or would they just break his concentration and threaten him with something to get him to focus on his family instead of his fleeting master.

“Gerard?” His mother, again. He didn’t look away from the door. “Honey?” He groaned softly, almost growled, and kept his eyes focused on the door. He wanted Frank here. Frank was his family now, too, so why couldn’t he be here? 

“Gerard.” That was his father’s voice. A firm, obviously commanding, voice. He knew to respond to that tone… But, God, he didn’t want to. No money had been traded, no paperwork had been handed over—Frank still owned him, not these people. He didn’t have to listen to them. “ _Gerard._ ”

“Dad, quit it,” Mikey said, his tone suggested that he knew he was calling rage onto himself. 

“Mikey, I’m just—”

“Don’t use that tone on him,” Mikey said. 

“What tone?” Their father argued in a hushed voice. Why bother whispering, he could still hear them and all of their bitter emotions just fine. Oh yeah, Gerard thought, apparently he was deaf as well as traumatized. He wanted to sing out “I can still fucking hear you”, but he just kept quiet.

“ _That_ tone—like you’re bitching at a dog for something.”

“Oh, Mikey, stop it,” their mother started. “Why do you always have to start a fight?” Gerard couldn’t believe that they were actually going to start arguing as if he wasn’t sitting there. That was what he’d wanted Frank for…someone uninvolved that he could share a sad glance with and then sigh. Now, all he had to look at was a closed door.

“Look,” Mikey said, taking on a very mature tone that caught Gerard’s attention. “I was just trying to say that Gerard isn’t deaf, you know? He hears you when you say ‘Gerard, Gerard’. If he wants to answer, he will. You don’t have to try to force him to give you his attention. Sure, if you start shouting at him he’ll probably give you his attention on a silver plate, but not because he wants to.” Their parents were quiet for a few moments, but Gerard kept staring at the door, determined not to let them catch on that he agreed with what Mikey was saying—he liked to pretend he couldn’t hear them. “But if you want to pretend like you have amnesia and don’t remember all the shit that the investigator told us, go ahead. Start yelling at him until he bows down and calls you master.” Now Gerard was curious. What exactly had the investigator told them?...he hoped not _everything_ …everything Frank told him…

Then he was afraid that Frank had told the investigator all of the things that he’d told him in private… About kidnapper, and his second master, and how he still kind of did love that other man just a little… And what about the things his second master had told Frank? Did he report those things? Did his parents now know those things? That he was a whore who attacked other whores to make sure he could have all of the attention his keeper had to offer for himself? 

But those things were so intimate… What would they think if they knew those things right away? 

They wouldn’t want him if they knew…

“They don’t want you, cum-whore! _No one_ wants you!” Gerard flinched, his first master’s voice filling the room, even though he seemed to be the only one who could hear it. 

It was just a memory, he told himself. He had to keep it together so he didn’t pass out again and end up in some hospital—he did _not_ want to be in a hospital, so he had to pull himself together.

He whined softly, feeling a sudden pain hit his chest. The noise was enough to get his family’s attention, even though the room sounded loud to Gerard.

“Honey, are you okay?” It was his mother.

“You really don’t know when to quit it, do you?” His master’s voice again. Gerard couldn’t help scanning the room quickly, just to make sure the man hadn’t somehow snuck in. 

“Gerard?” His mother could tell he was only halfway with them—mentally torn between two places. He had to come back to them, he had to show them he wasn’t going insane. Even if they didn’t want him and he knew that they could never possibly love him again, he would rather be in their care than in a mental institution.

“It’s okay,” Gerard said suddenly, turning to look at his parents and trying not to flinch or even grimace. It was hard, but he felt like he might have succeeded. “I am a dog. I need a drink of water—if you’ll excuse me.” He got up from his seat quickly and made it to the door before anyone in his family could speak. He probably would have stayed in the room if his father had been speaking to him, but instead the man chose to yell at Mikey for “putting that thought in his brother’s head”.

“No, no, no—where are you going?” The female officer didn’t hesitate to grab him the instant he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind himself. He let her pretend to tackle him, and then stood still, waiting for her to let go before he answered.

“I was thirsty. I haven’t had a drink yet today and it’s almost four O’clock.” The officer looked at him and then motioned for him to follow her down the hall to a very obvious and in-plain-sight drinking fountain. 

“That’s not true. You had coffee this morning.”

“Where’s Frank?” Gerard asked before dipping down to drink the water that tasted faintly like metal in his mouth.

“We sent him home.” Gerard glared, but kept drinking. “I’m sorry. It just seemed that he was a hindrance to you.”

“What’s a hindrance is the way they keep yelling at my brother. It pisses me off. I don’t want to go with them.” Gerard only stopped drinking long enough to finish the sentences before starting again, planning to drink until he was sick so that he could delay his return to that conference room.

“If it would make you more comfortable, we could ask that your brother—”

“Gonna send him home, too? Why don’t you send everyone I get along with home? Leave me in there with those two people who didn’t even want me when I lived with them—sounds like a good fucking idea.” The officer sighed and watched Gerard as he took another drink. “Sorry to ruin your glamorous, _Lifetime_ movie reunion.”

“Gerard, I know this is hard for you, but it’s hard for them, too.”

“Yeah, well they could at least _pretend_ to be happy to see me! I would rather stay with Frank! I got along fine with Frank! And if I go with them, I’ll probably never get to see him again—like a fucking dog! You just take me away from him and I don’t get a say, and I never get to see him no matter how much I liked him!”

“You’ll be able to see your friend again,” the officer said reassuringly. “Right now you have been put into your parents’ custody, and a judge will decide later if it needs to stay that way, but you’re still completely capable of having him visit or going to his apartment—”

“As long as Mom and fucking Dad say it’s okay—which they won’t.” Gerard bent back down for another long drink, but the officer startled him by pulling him back up by the collar of his shirt.

“You’re done drinking.”

“Then I want dinner,” Gerard stated, blinking tiredly. “I got here at five-thirty and it’s four now. I’m hungry.”

“We’ll get you something right away. But right now you need to go back—”

“Please,” Gerard said quietly. “ _Please_ , can I just sit out here for a minute? I need a break from… _that_.” He motioned towards the conference room door and sighed. The officer looked him over and nodded.

“Why don’t you and I talk for a few minutes, sort some feelings out, and then we can try this again, alright?” Gerard nodded, not liking the ‘you and I talk’ part, but preferring the officer-of-no-relation to his parents at that moment. “Now, is there something in particular you want to eat? We can order something or ask one of our officers coming in to stop on his way and bring you something.”

“I eat anything,” Gerard said in what he hoped was an amiable tone, following the female officer down the hallway to another closed off conference room. At first, he’d been afraid of being led into another interrogation, fearing the concrete walls, bright lights and cameras. 

“Okay,” the officer stated, opening the door and motioning him inside. “I’ll be back in a minute—I’m going to have someone bring you something, and tell your parents that they’re going to have to be patient for a little while.” Gerard nodded and took a seat facing an uncovered window. 

It really was only a few minutes before the woman returned again, sitting across from Gerard and signaling for him to give her his attention as she pushed a small cup of coffee in his direction. 

Cops did know how to bribe…didn’t they? 

“Now come on, Gerard, what happened in there? I was standing outside, but I give you all privacy. I don’t listen in so I really don’t know.” Gerard believed her, just as he believed the whole conversation was being recorded by some camera he hadn’t looked for, to be used for later scrutiny. 

“I didn’t want Frank to go,” Gerard said with a sigh. “I _know_ Frank. I don’t know them. How would you feel in a room full of strangers you know you’re supposed to remember but don’t?”

“While Frank was in there you weren’t talking, and when you did it was to him.”

“I like him,” Gerard replied, almost defensively. “He understands me.” The officer said nothing, just kept looking at him. “Mom and Dad…the last thing I remember about them, even though I know it’s not the last thing that happened…before—was getting yelled at because they didn’t know who I was anymore. Mom said that I wasn’t her son anymore—like, I was an imposter or a stand-in. Not like she’d disowned me or anything like that… It just keeps bothering me because it’s true now. I’m not her son anymore—I don’t know who I am, and they can’t figure it out either…and they’re not going to want me when they do.”

“Why do you always say that, Gerard? That they aren’t going to want you?”

“Because they’re not,” Gerard spat back. “Who’s going to want a whore for a son? No one! Just like no one wants a drug addict for a son!”

“Gerard, you are not what you’ve been made to do—your identity is not what you’ve done.” Gerard paused, even though he’d had something to say in response to that. Something about it made sense, like it was a loophole he could let himself fall into if he wanted. God knew he wanted to—he wanted his parents to love him again and want him back. “You were raped Gerard, you were forced to endure horrible things—but that’s not who you are. Before all of this, you were a fifteen-year-old addicted to drugs—and that wasn’t who you were. Your personality, your ability to be loved, isn’t based on your mistakes or your tragedies. Rape doesn’t deserve love, drugs don’t deserve love, those actions don’t deserve love, but you do…but you don’t see it that way, do you?” Gerard sighed and stared at the table. It made sense, everything she was saying made sense, but it made him nervous, too. Whores weren’t supposed to think like that. They weren’t supposed to experience love—they don’t _deserve_ love.

That job was over now, wasn’t it? No one owned him now, not even a nice man like Frank—not even a worthless master like Frank. But what was life without obedience, submission, slavery, and sex? He didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine a life without it. At least with Frank he could push for sex and even get it—Frank was so easy to overpower because he was so terribly unwilling to fight—but there was no way in hell he was getting sex from his family. 

What the hell was he going to do when the day came that he really, _really_ needed that release? Hope they let him go to Frank’s apartment? 

“You don’t think you deserve love, do you, Gerard?” The officer asked, her voice too companionate.

“I don’t,” Gerard replied. It was true. He didn’t. And not because he was a whore or a drug addict…it was things in his personality that ruined his rights to affection. He’d convinced another person to commit suicide—watched the boy do it, right there on their master’s kitchen floor—he’d beaten the other whores unconscious in their master’s absence…threw coffee on Ray, raped Frank… Someone who did things like that didn’t deserve love.

“Why do you think that?”

“Did you tell my parents everything?” Gerard asked, changing the subject before he confessed to murder and ended up behind bars for life.

“What do you mean everything?” The officer asked, seeming willing to let the conversation drop. 

“Everything I told the other cop, and everything Frank said.”

“No, we didn’t tell them everything,” the officer answered. “We left out many details we thought might jeopardize our investigation of your last—er—last master.” How reluctant she seemed to use the word master. 

“What did you tell them?” Gerard asked, wanting answers.

“We told them what you told us about your kidnapping, but we didn’t share all of the details you gave us about what you endured in that man’s house.”

“What did you tell them it was, then? I want to make sure our stories—uh—coincide,” Gerard responded with more than a bit of sarcasm. 

“That you were sexually tortured and groomed for a life in the slave trade.” Gerard’s face fell, feeling that that graphic of a description left his “details” insufficient. “We also told them how much you were sold for, to give them an idea about why someone would want to do this to a person if not just for the corrupted pleasure of it. They were also informed about your ‘second master’ and your apparent attachment to him, even though you did give us his name which will help build an investigation. But we did tell them that you seemed very bitter about the fact that your second kidnapper replaced you with another boy.” Gerard growled softly, looking away from the woman and focusing on the window. “Most of what we told them was about how you came to be in Frank Iero’s care. We don’t see what Mr. Iero did as a crime, and your parents have both stated that, at this time, they don’t want to file a case against him for what’s happened. It may be of interest to you that your brother and Mr. Iero actually had a run-in at the diner where Mr. Iero works, yesterday. They didn’t know who each other were, and Mr. Iero didn’t seem to recall the encounter so well because he’d been so fatigued from the long hours, but your brother remembered him.”

“Does Mikey…like Frank?” Gerard asked, hoping that the answer was yes so that Mikey could help convince their parents to let him visit Frank at some point. The officer’s sudden glance at the wall told him otherwise.

“Your brother feels that Frank knew who he was and intentionally held back information when they met because he didn’t want to turn you over yet. It seems that Mr. Iero looked at him as if he’d recognized him. Most of what your brother has said seems to be based on feelings instead of logic, but—”

“Didn’t you tell them about all that Frank’s done for me? He fixed my tooth—he bought me clothes!”

“Ultimately, he harbored a missing person without reporting it. What he did was illegal, but we’re willing to overlook it because of the situation he was put in. He was afraid he’d get caught by the trafficking ring and murdered, and you appear to have left his care without harm.”

“I love Frank,” Gerard said quietly, noticing the way the woman looked at the table as if in shame and shook her head. “You don’t think I’m capable of that.”

“Gerard, we don’t want you to take this the wrong way—”

“Who the fuck is ‘we’?” Gerard spat. “Are you schizophrenic now? Are there two of you?”

“Gerard, your perception of love is skewed.”

“Fuck you,” Gerard hissed, feeling her increasing frustration.

“You’re trained to place emotion in whoever you feel _owns_ you. Frank owned you, so you’ve given him this affection without—”

“I know,” Gerard spat. “I’m like a fucking dog! I’ll love anyone who pats my head and gives me a fucking treat! And maybe if they fucking say ‘good boy, good boy’, I’ll give them my fucking ass!” Gerard stood from his chair and threw his small cup of coffee at the wall, intentionally in the opposite direction of the officer so she wouldn’t get injured. “Fuck this. Fuck you.” Gerard opened the door into the hallway and left, slamming the door behind him even though he heard the officer chase after him. He found the door to the room with his family and slipped inside, preferring their company over hers. He did, however, make a point to let her catch him going inside so she wouldn’t follow him. “I want to go home now.” He looked at his mom when he said it, probably because she was the closest to the door. “Can we please just leave?”

While his parents stammered a few times and looked at each other blankly, Mikey stood up from his seat.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ good idea to me,” Mikey said. He started towards Gerard and their parents followed suit, looking bewildered but not what Gerard would call unhappy.


	10. Walk Away A Savior

Frank closed the door of his apartment behind him, sealing himself off from the rest of the world, and immediately broke down into tears. He didn’t see how he couldn’t, even though he’d made an attempt to keep himself together during the long walk home. 

He felt so relieved that he was being let go, not being kept prisoner or facing a lifetime behind bars for crimes he really hadn’t committed. And at the same time, he felt so scared for Gerard—what must it be like to be reintroduced to his family after eight years? He had to be terrified and so _alienated_. In eight years, they’d learned to make a family together without him. Now, he was invading that system and single-handedly dismantling it. Frank just hoped they understood him. Saw that they couldn’t say certain things or show frustration—even though there was no way the days were going to pass by without the emotion _flooding_ them.

He didn’t think it would happen, but he hoped that he’d be able to see Gerard again someday. See him feeling better and recovered… What would Gerard look like without that haze in his eyes? Without that constant crease of worry on his face? 

God, he just wanted Gerard to be okay. 

Sniffing, and trying to pull himself together, Frank aimed for his bathroom, wanting to take a shower in hopes that he could somehow wash his emotions away down the drain with the water. Then, just as he started to take off his shirt, it hit him that he no longer had a use for all of the clothes he’d bought for Gerard… It was highly unlikely that that family was going to want anything reminiscent of him around Gerard for a while—at least until Gerard quit regarding him as a master. 

So until then, however many months that would take, a painful reminder of the broken man he couldn’t save on his own, would be residing in his office. There was no way he was going to throw the belongings out—even if he bought them, they were _Gerard’s_. The only thing he’d consider throwing away was the outfit Gerard had come to him in.

He forced out a laugh between two sobs. He wondered if Gerard’s family felt the same way about the clothes their son was wearing now. He bet that, more than anything, they were wanting him out of those clothes so they could pitch them in the trash… 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard crept into the house after standing on the front stoop for twenty minutes peering inside. Somehow, it seemed like going in there was surrendering something, but he couldn’t figure out what. 

He liked that no one said anything to him when he made it inside. No praise reminiscent of “good boy, Gerard! Good boy!” They just kept quiet…especially Mikey who sped into the house the moment they got home, barely waiting for the car to stop before jumping out. It seemed that he and Dad were fighting still. In the whole time that Gerard spent on the stoop, his mother stood behind him and his father stood a few paces back in the entrance room. Mikey, Gerard assumed, must’ve gone to his room to get away from the chaos, but he wanted to find out for sure which was mostly why he decided to go in. Hell, he could’ve stood out there all night—it wouldn’t have bothered him at all. 

Gerard couldn’t deny the fact that his entire body was shaking as he stepped slowly into his old house and let his mother close the door behind him. Things seemed familiar but not, at the same time. He felt like he knew the place, but he didn’t. Maybe he just wished he knew where the twists in the house would lead him.

“Honey, do you want to have a seat in the living room?” He flinched when his mother touched his shoulder, pulling him out of his curious new world. He looked at her blankly, trying to figure out if that was what she wanted him to do, or if he had a say in the matter. “I was going to make some dinner for us—are you hungry?” Why the mass of questions when he didn’t want to talk? Frank had done the same thing…At least his former masters just made him do what they wanted without wasting time on speech. Kidnap, beat unconscious. Purchase, throw on bed, fuck… Why not have his mother just guide him to the couch, sit him down, leave, and then call him later to eat? _Why ask?_

And what if he wasn’t hungry? Was the whole family just going to fast for the night because he didn’t feel like eating? 

“Okay,” Gerard forced himself to mumble when his parents just stared at him. He took a nervous step forward, wondering if someone was going to show him where the living room was or if they were going to make him wander around until he found it.

“It’s this way,” his father said, startling him because the voice had been so firm. It was like he was getting scolded for something—maybe he should have looked for the room himself—but then he decided that the tone was unintentional. The man was obviously trying to keep himself composed, and the only way to disguise a voice that wanted to crack was to speak harshly. 

Gerard followed him with raised shoulders, knowing he wouldn’t be attacked by anything, but still feeling nauseatingly paranoid.

The living room was simple—making Gerard wonder what he’d been expecting. Couch, chairs, rug, coffee table, end table, lamp, television, photos hanging on walls…Simple. Cozy…that couched looked like a good place to curl up and go to sleep.

Sleep—now there was an idea. Sleep. Maybe he could go to sleep, and when he woke up, everything would be normal and they’d somehow be passed this awkward new-beginnings shit. Gerard figured that while he was home now, he should pretend like nothing ever happened—but he didn’t want to end up in some hospital because they thought he had coping issues. He had to deal with the introductions and the nervous looks…

Had to.

“Dad?” Gerard asked as he sat down on the couch slowly, trying to recall anything in his mind that told him this was the same furniture that he’d sat on before he’d left. He remembered nothing.

“Yeah, Gerard?” His father responded way too eagerly. It made Gerard lose what he’d been about to say—even though it hadn’t been anything important.

“I forgot,” Gerard mumbled, staring at the floor absently. His father sighed in disappointment, but didn’t say anything. “Dad, all my things are at Frank’s house.”

“We’re going to get you some new things. Don’t worry about it.” Gerard felt a little wounded by the statement, but continued staring at the ground so his father couldn’t catch on. 

“But I had a notebook there that I wanted.” No answer. What couldn’t be replaced was going to be left behind. Well that just fucking sucked.

“Dad, I could go to that guy’s house and get his stuff—it’s not a problem for me,” Mikey said as he walked into the room from, seemingly, out of nowhere. He had a textbook draped over one arm, but was punching something into a cell phone with the other hand. 

“No, Mikey. We’re not doing that.” Gerard looked up then, sensing some sort of attack.

“Come on, Dad, it’s just clothes and stuff. You can’t make him wear that outfit all day today and all day tomorrow—face it, his old clothes won’t fit.”

“The answer is no. We’re not going to argue about this in front of him. Maybe some other time we can go get those things, but not—”

“What’s the big deal, Dad?” Mikey asked, practically beginning to yell, looking up from his work and phone to stare their father in the eye. “It’s what he wants. It’s not like he asked to move back in with that guy—he just wants to get his stuff.”

“Dinner’s going to be ready soon. You don’t have time.” Mikey sighed and passed Gerard a sympathetic glance. Gerard caught it, and then immediately cast his eyes to the floor. Mikey must have taken the hint because he left the room and something slammed upstairs—a bedroom door, perhaps?

Gerard regretted speaking. He knew better than to do that, than to ask for something right away. Maybe he got away with that with Frank, but he should’ve known better when it came to this family. As terrible as it was, he’d gotten used to being able to ask for things and get things. Frank wasn’t a master. Frank let him think for himself. This family wasn’t going to be like that. He had to learn to go back to the way things were before—when he’d been with his second master.

You don’t speak. You don’t ask questions. You don’t ask for things. You stay quiet and do as you’re told. You don’t think, you don’t wonder, you don’t dream. You keep your head down and you obey. 

Now all he had to do was wait for a command.

“Gerard, I’m sorry, but your mother and I just aren’t comfortable with that.” Gerard just kept his head down. Weren’t comfortable with that—so? So what? He didn’t need to explain—why was he explaining? Gerard had nothing to say to that, and he could tell his dad wanted him to say something. But he could come up with nothing. “We’re not trying to be mean. You understand that, right?” A question? Did he understand? No, he really didn’t…but if he didn’t say he did, the explanation was going to be even more confusing…and if he said yes he was lying. What was the punishment for lying here? But it was just a small lie…he still knew better than to lie. 

For God’s sake, why couldn’t the man just hit him and say ‘no’? Just one hard blow to the face and a very angry ‘no’? Then it would be forgotten about and everything could go back to whatever the fuck normal was. 

“Okay, Gerard.” His father left the room then, the spiteful tone of his voice leaving Gerard in literal pain. What had he done now? He’d taken too long to reply, hadn’t he? And now he was by himself in this strange room in this strange house. He hadn’t meant to make him mad…

Gerard let out a quiet whimper and looked at the doorway, hoping he’d come back, even if he hadn’t been the most pleasant company. After ten minutes of staring and listening to the husband and wife mumble to each other in the kitchen, Gerard realized that he wasn’t. He’d been left on his own.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey came back downstairs after half an hour. It didn’t do him or Gerard any good to sit in his room and sulk and attempt to study. He deflected his parents’ calls for him to ‘just leave Gerard alone’ and peered into the living room where the poor man had been left. Was he the only one aware that Gerard wasn’t going to move from that seat on the couch until someone told him he could? Apparently. Just the sight of his brother sitting there, whimpering softly and trying to fight back tears, made Mikey’s rage return full-force.

Before Gerard could see him, he pulled back from the doorway and went back into the kitchen, not sure why he had to yell at someone, but knowing that if he didn’t he was going to end up breaking something instead.

As soon as he got into the kitchen, though, he realized that if he yelled, Gerard was going to hear and become upset. So he instead settled for giving his father the most vicious look he could muster before composing himself and going back into the living room to sit down beside Gerard.

“You feeling okay, Gee?” Mikey asked quietly, putting a hand on Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard looked at the hand first, and then at him, looking horridly depressed and worried. “He shouldn’t have left you here by yourself.” Gerard looked away towards the floor and sighed. “It’ll still be a few more minutes before the food is ready…would you maybe want to see upstairs? I could show you my room—get away from those two for a little bit.” He inclined his head towards the kitchen where their parents could be heard mumbling. Gerard’s eyes seemed to light up a little and he nodded.

Mikey stood from the couch and Gerard instantly joined him, looking more alive than ever. Mikey wasn’t sure if the lights in his eyes were there because Gerard had made an attachment to him, or because someone was finally giving him attention again. 

The happiness—if that was what it was—was short lived. The instant they made it to the kitchen, planning to aim for the stairs leading up, their father caught their intention and stopped them.

“Where are you going? Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” It wasn’t possible for Mikey to ignore the way Gerard tried to hide behind him.

“I was going to show him my room—you know, finish the tour of the hou—”

“No.” When he said it, even their mother turned away from what she was doing, looking nervous about what her husband might say. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, Dad,” Mikey said, trying to keep his tone light because every time someone raised a voice it made Gerard nervous. “I just want to show him my guitar.” There was no mistaking Gerard’s apparent interest in that. He started to look at Mikey curiously, as if seeing him in a different light, and his face showed a bit of excitement. 

“Mikey…think about it.” Mikey couldn’t figure out why his dad was making such an effort to be an asshole. Was he trying to act tough so no one would pick up on the fact that he couldn’t hold himself together, or did he just flash back to how much trouble Gerard used to be and decide that the stern attitude he’d had to use on Gerard back then was the only way to get the man to listen now. “It’s not a good idea—your bedroom, come on. Think about. That’s not a comfortable place for him.” Gerard seemed to be about to say something—either ‘it doesn’t bother me’ or ‘I’m not worried about it’—but then their father had to add on more, and Gerard’s words turned to a silent, hurt gape. “It’s for your own safety, as well as his.”

Those words just seemed to crush him. To be so bluntly accused of wanting to cause harm to his brother left Gerard almost instantly in tears. He at least got two breaths in before he started to sob and retreated into the living room. 

“I can’t believe you just fucking said that to him,” Mikey said quietly, forcing as much anger into the words as he could without screaming. “If you want to say something like that, do it when he’s not standing right fucking there. How dare you?” Even though it probably wasn’t the wisest idea, Mikey pushed away the hand that landed on his shoulder and returned to the living room where Gerard sat, curled into himself on the couch weeping. 

Mikey slowly sat beside him, inwardly flinching when Gerard jerked away from him and pulled into himself further. He didn’t let the behavior deter him though. With a gentle hand, he touched Gerard’s hair and stroked it softly, trying not to listen to the broken sounding whimpers that followed.

“Gerard, you did not deserve that,” he said quietly, so their parents wouldn’t hear. “That was cruel. He shouldn’t have said that.” Gerard choked out a sound that may have been a word. As it was, Mikey became aware that his brother wasn’t going speak unless he had to. “Gerard, I didn’t think that you would hurt me—I _know_ you won’t. So please don’t cry.” Gerard made a quiet groan and leaned further away from him. “Gerard…Gerard, I’m sorry.” Gerard neither replied nor calmed his tears.

Rather than losing patience and leaving, Mikey leaned over and put his head on Gerard’s shoulder, even though the man practically shrieked and pulled farther away. It was only a matter of seconds before Gerard calmed after that. He remained crying, but he didn’t push Mikey away and he seemed to have lost some of his tension. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Get Gerard to eat? Now there was an idea. It was about as possible as getting their mom to dye her hair candy-apple red. It just wasn’t happening. Mikey was even surprised that their mother was able to coerce him into sitting at the table. Of course, he sat across from her and next to Mikey, leaving their father at a diagonal distance from him across the table. 

Mikey left it up to their mother to get Gerard to eat, even though Gerard looked to him whenever she would say anything. Ultimately, she failed and Gerard just stared at his plate very accusingly for the duration of the meal. He could tell that their father was feeling guilty—maybe finally realizing that Gerard was not deaf or incompetent. Gerard heard, Gerard saw, Gerard _understood_ everything.

Shortly after the meal was over, Mikey left the house. He had to. He felt bad leaving Gerard behind, but he knew that every time he was in the picture, a fight was about to erupt. His parents were eager to reconnect with their son, and he was just in the way. As long as he was around, Gerard was going to focus on him—just as he had with Frank during the initial reunion. Mikey gave them their space, and they didn’t bother to ask questions when he’d disappeared through the front door. 

His destination was simple—the police station. Gerard wanted his clothes, and after what their father had done to him, he deserved something he could crawl inside of and disappear into. He didn’t know Frank’s address, but the police did. They weren’t going to tell him, he already knew, but his goal was to get them to at least call Frank the Waiter and see if he’d be willing to share his address.

Mikey hadn’t expected any trouble. The situation that they were all in left him in the officers’ favor—making it easier for him to get what he wanted. They called Frank, and Frank went right along with it. Even offering to send a cab to pick Mikey up—or pick him up himself if he wanted. Mikey refused and walked the distance to the apartment complex, remembering the floor number and room number since he didn’t care to write either one down. 

He got into the building without having to use the buzzer system because someone had been leaving just as he’d been arriving and the person had held the door for him. It wasn’t a trashy building, but it wasn’t high-class either. It was ordinary, but essentially better than Mikey had been expecting. Who could blame him for expecting a punk-rock looking nineteen-year-old waiter who’d intended to spend a good portion of his lottery money on beer, to live in squalor? 

When he knocked on the door that he was pretty sure was Frank’s, the door opened immediately, no time even being wasted on locks. Mikey bet the man had been standing there since the call had ended, waiting…

“Hey,” was all the teen could say when he let Mikey inside. He looked like he wanted to say a million things at once, but settled for just a greeting.

The apartment was clean, Mikey noted. Adequate furniture, modern television…everything looked to be in acceptable condition. Gerard hadn’t been living in Hell.

“Is he doing okay?” Frank the Teary-eyed Waiter asked, his tone obviously overcome with nerves.

“He was doing alright until our dad got a hold of him. Dad left him sitting in the living room by himself for about half an hour which had him upset, and when I found out I offered to show him my room…” Mikey peered into the different rooms of the house without really leaving the center of the living room. There were guitars hanging on the wall of what looked like an office. No wonder Gerard had shown interest when he’d said he had a guitar as well. “Show him _my_ guitar.”

“You play?” Frank asked. It wasn’t really a question, just a friendly exchange of words. Mikey didn’t answer.

“Our dad said no because it wasn’t ‘safe’ for me to have him in my room. Well—first he said it would be uncomfortable for Gerard, and then he said it was for my safety. Of course, he cried.” Frank exclaimed in disgust and fixed his eyes on the wall. Mikey observed the legitimate glare on his face and felt a little more at peace with the teen. 

“How could he say that? He doesn’t—”

“The officers told us about what he did,” Mikey said, not at all in a sympathetic ‘oh, you poor victim’ voice.

“He didn’t _do_ anything,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. “The only time Gerard has ever really done _anything_ that was…that was _intentionally_ —intentionally bad, was when he got jealous.”

“They told us about that, too,” Mikey muttered. “They called it ‘possessive behavior’—‘your brother exhibits _possessive_ behavior’.” He didn’t forget to add the air quotes.

“That didn’t show up right away, you know? I mean—”

“They said he didn’t like your friend much,” Mikey interjected. “I noticed they let him go before we even got there.” Mikey sighed and moved over to the couch by the television for a seat. He didn’t want to leave this place anytime soon. The sooner he left, the sooner he’d have to fight another fight. 

“Gerard _hated_ him,” Frank said, sighing quietly. “He told him to leave my apartment the first time I had him over, then the second time he dumped coffee on him—”

“He’s not as innocent as he acts,” Mikey said, smirking because the behavior sounded so much like _Gerard_. So innocent but still so corrupt…

“ _Exactly_ ,” Frank said, looking a little more relaxed. “I mean, he’s not evil, and he’s not a murderer at heart, but he isn’t—”

“He isn’t broken either,” Mikey finished. Frank went quiet and nodded. “Gerard’s not broken.”

“The—uh—the man who sold him to me said that Gerard doesn’t like to let anyone near the people he cares about, and it really is true. And it wasn’t just with Ray—when the officers came here and found him, they thought for a minute that maybe he was actually the…the ‘owner’ so to speak, because he was getting so protective of me.” Mikey didn’t know how he wanted to respond to that. It could easily be taken as Frank declaring that Gerard was attached to him and him alone, but it could also just be a statement of fact… 

“He doesn’t have a problem yelling at you, that’s for sure,” Mikey stated, laughing a little and stretching his legs out in order to cross them. 

“No,” Frank said, forcing out a small laugh of his own. Mikey had to admit that Frank looked a little worried. “No, he doesn’t have a problem with that at all. He never really did. When he first came here he was hoping that I’d kill him if I got mad at him, so he’d yell in hopes that it would get me angry—he really was in love with that other man until…until he was free for a little while.”

“Yeah?” Mikey asked. Frank nodded. 

“I shouldn’t tell Gerard’s business, but I think it would help if everyone knew how sensitive he is about that whole situation. Most of the reasons why he’s still attached to his last master are because he doesn’t want to accept what’s happened to him. He even told me that he didn’t want to think it was true that he was raped every day for eight years.” Mikey sighed and looked at the floor quietly. “When he found out that I was serious about sending him home—because I really was!—he broke down. He swore that your parents wouldn’t want him because he was a whore. He told me he wanted me to keep him…mostly so I could take his master’s place. And that really worries me, because he’s not looking for friends or Mom and Dad, he’s looking for a master because that’s all he knows.”

“I can see that,” Mikey mumbled. Maybe Frank had had the right idea, keeping Gerard here for a few days before letting the police get involved. There was at least one person who understood him in existence. Frank had gotten to know at least part of Gerard…and he’d had good intentions. Hell, Gerard raped Frank—Frank had never touched him…and although there was no proof of that since Gerard had panic attacks at the thought of a physical exam, Mikey believed it. When it came to Gerard, Frank didn’t seem to have a mean streak in him at all. “What do you think of Gerard?” Mikey asked, playing a psychological game of his own before he decided whether or not he really liked or disliked the teen that’d saved his brother’s life.

“I think Gerard…is really loving. He gives kisses a lot.”

“He…Kisses?” Mikey stated in sheer confusion. What do you think of Gerard? Well, he gives kisses. What the fuck kind of an answer was that?

“Yeah…Once he decides that you’re an okay person and that he likes you, he gets really loving. It’s—it’s kinda cute.” Frank looked down at the floor and shrugged his shoulders.

“Cute?” Mikey repeated, not liking the word but not minding the tone. “You think he’s cute?”

“Well…” Mikey could have laughed if he hadn’t been in such a serious mood—Frank the Waiter looked flustered. “Well, yeah.”

( ) ( ) ( )

A woman’s touch… Gerard couldn’t remember if he’d actually made physical contact with a woman in the entirety of the eight years he’d been apart from his family. Sure, there was the gentle brush against a lady’s sleeve in a store, but never an actual _touch_.

After diner, and after Mikey left, Gerard returned to the couch in the living room. His father sat in the chair away from the couch, which Gerard thought was a good place for him, but his mother sat down beside him. She kept staring at him, making him nervous as he tried to keep his eyes focused on the uninteresting floor. 

He didn’t know what do. It wasn’t like he’d been on vacation—he couldn’t just start a conversation by saying ‘oh, the strangest thing happened when I was with my friend’. He knew that if he did begin to speak, everyone would just go quiet and stare at him and listen and then pity him or fuss over him…

Gerard had nothing he could say, so he kept his mouth shut and stared at the floor. And then his mom touched his arm in this gentle way and he started to cry again…something he’d grown tired of doing by that point.

“We missed you so much, sweetheart,” she said, rubbing his arm gently. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, caught her gaze, and then looked away. He wanted to say the words back, because he had missed her and his dad, but he felt safer when he kept his silence. “We were so worried about you.” He made a quiet noise in response, hoping she would understand. “I love you, Gerard,” she said quietly, almost as if she didn’t want his father to hear, and moved so the hand caressing his arm wound behind his shoulders so she could hug him. Gerard didn’t consider resisting. He let his head fall against her shoulder and nuzzled it gently, taking in her scent and warmth. 

Mom…he missed having a mom. He missed this.

Slowly, he shifted his arms to get them around her in order to hug back. She held him a little tighter and he sighed, relishing every second of the comforting touch.

( ) ( ) ( )

They told him he was to stay in his old room to sleep… The thought made him tremble. He didn’t want to go to that place—it wasn’t his anymore. He felt like he’d contaminate it worse than it already was.

Gerard couldn’t believe they left him down here…

“Make yourself at home, sweetheart,” his mother had said. “I changed the sheets for you.”

“Try to get some sleep, son,” his father had said, patting him on the back before turning to go back upstairs. Was no one concerned that Mikey had been gone for almost five hours? Anyone besides himself? …No. They weren’t worried at all. 

His mother had hugged him again, told him that she loved him and was ‘so glad’ that he was home, kissed his cheek and said goodnight before leaving him to himself in the dim basement bedroom.

He tried not to start to cry as he crept further into the room and touched his old desk gently, almost afraid that it would crumble at his touch or turn into a dream. It didn’t feel real being here—it was almost like a nightmare. 

Gerard began to scan the room, looking at the papers on his desk that were in disorder, the out-of-place, clean, neat bed sheets, the absence of the clothes that used to litter his floor…He looked in his closet, smiling faintly at a long shirt he sort of _did_ remember.

Once he sat down on the bed, still wearing his clothes from Frank’s, it finally began to sink in that this was home. This was where he was supposed to have been for the last eight years…so why did he still wish he was somewhere else? Why did he still sigh at the absence of his master…his _old_ master? Was that what Frank was now? His “old” master?...third master. 

Without turning off the light, Gerard lay down and closed his eyes, exhaustion overcoming him before racing thoughts could. After years of being abused in between different levels of consciousness, he learned how to fall asleep and fall asleep fast.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard felt himself being rolled onto his back and his legs pulled open to give his master access of what he wanted. He mewled softly and opened his legs further, even though sleep kept him from opening his eyes. As his master slid inside of him at a slow pace, he sighed and let his head fall back against the pillow more heavily. 

Wet kisses traced his neck from collar bone to ear before stealing his lips, his mouth being quickly invaded by a slick tongue which he sucked lovingly. Gentle hands traced his body, caressing his sides and sometimes stroking his cheek. Even though those hands never dipped low enough to stroke him and truly pleasure him, Gerard never complained. Just his master’s presence inside of him should be all of the pleasure he needed—after all, it was all that he deserved.

It was _more_ than he deserved.

“Master,” he moaned out as the thrusting inside of him sped up. “Oh, Master!” He couldn’t help the little moans and cries that escaped him after that, the feelings all beginning to get to him as he slowly woke up. 

“Better hush, Baby, you don’t want them to hear you.” Gerard’s eyes flew open for the first time, and he registered that the man atop him wasn’t his master—at least not the one he’d believed it to be. It was his first master—his trainer—not his third master…not Frank.

Gerard screamed and tried to push the man off of him, kicking his legs uselessly while shoving the man’s chest. His trainer wasn’t allowed to have him this way—his trainer had _never_ had him this way. He never wanted his trainer inside of him, invading him and destroying him. The man had taken enough of him, why did he need to take this?

The more Gerard fought, the more pain presented itself to him. He could feel his body tearing, leaking blood onto the sheets that felt like sandpaper beneath his back. Skin within him could be felt stretching and then ripping with an unbearable sting that left him reeling. 

“Master, stop!” He cried. “Please! Please, stop it!”

“Hush, Baby, or I’m gonna make it hurt worse.” And he did, thrusting harder and faster, spilling more blood and inflicting enough damage that Gerard fell back on the mattress and lay still except for when the violent thrusts pushed him forward. He couldn’t stop the whimpers that escaped him, like the cries of a beaten puppy, and all he could do to ward off the pain was squeeze his eyes shut and tell himself to sleep—just sleep. Fall asleep and the pain would end. 

But the more he fought to sleep, the more vivid everything became…he honed in on every scrap of detail around him. The sweat on his skin, the blood running between his thighs, the roughness of the bed sheets—the way his master’s voice changed.

“Ah, Babe—God, you’re so good.” Gerard opened his eyes again because that voice wasn’t his trainer’s—it was his second master’s. What the hell was going on? Sure enough, above him was his second keeper, not his first. “ _God_ , Babe. Oh, God, _Baby_.” Gerard groaned softly, noticing that the pain was fading away. That was to be expected, right? His second master was never too rough with him. Still, Gerard couldn’t help his whimpers. He’d been so sure that his first master had been here. Why was it now his second? And where was Frank? “God, Gerard, you feel so good. You’re so perfect.” As much as he loved hearing these beautiful things, he wanted Frank back. Even if Frank never did these things—maybe even _because_ Frank never did these things.

“Master, where’s Frank?” Gerard choked out. “Master, I’m so confused.” He began to cry, and his master didn’t answer. “Master, I want Frank— _please_ , where is he?” No answer, just steady thrusts. “Master—I want my other master back, please! You have Joshua now, please let me go!”

“Now you’re gonna see what happens to whores who disobey, Baby.” Gerard screamed when the pain came back and his second master turned back into his first. He couldn’t take it anymore—not the confusion, the pain, or the horror. 

Was this a nightmare? It had to be, didn’t it? Because he’d been with Frank, he knew that he had been. Then his trainer took over. It was a nightmare. A nightmare.

He needed to wake up now. He needed to wake up.

Wake up.

Wake _up_.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard gasped as he came away from the dream, his eyes open and staring at a dark ceiling that was different from anything he’d ever seen before. This wasn’t Frank’s house… This wasn’t his trainer’s home… Where was this?

He started to whimper softly, but the volume grew quickly. Whose house was this?...Whose _basement_ was this? The whimpers turned into a shriek that was only muffled by the fisted hand he put over his mouth.

“Stop it, Baby, or I’m gonna make sure you’re sold to a dungeon where they do this shit just for fun. You want to go to a home like that?”

“M-ma—master?” Gerard stuttered, looking around at the black room where nothing could be made out at all besides the dim, curtained window that was high up on the wall. 

“I can make it happen, Baby—they won’t ever let you die.”

“Please, no,” Gerard whimpered, trying to see if there was anything that looked like it would cause pain near him. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell. What torture devices were hidden in this black hell? 

He found himself free of restraints as he attempted to stand from the bed. Once one foot was on the floor, his knee gave out and he fell the rest of the way off of the bed, terrified that the sound may have alerted someone.

No other noises followed except for his quiet cries and shaking breaths. The rest of the house must have been asleep. After all, no light could be seen coming from the stairwell his eyes suddenly lit upon as he looked around once again for anything that could harm him.

Shaking with the horror of being caught, taunted by his own fear, Gerard got back to his feet and started up the stairs to the first floor of the house. Every few steps one of his knees would give out and drop him, but he came to anticipate it and caught himself before he could fall.

He made it to the top and finally there was light. The stairs led up into a kitchen, and a small nightlight with a dim yellow bulb was plugged in beneath one of the cabinets. It was warm in this home, and quiet…something was off about it.

Masters always seemed to keep their houses cold, so their whores had no choice but to cuddle—either with each other or the master. 

There was a box of some sort on the counter—some kind of food—and plates in the sink. Food wasn’t put away, and dishes weren’t done. A master would never want it that way. Where the hell was this place?

_Think,_ Gerard told himself, slowly forcing himself to be calm. _Think, Gerard. Where are you?_ He remembered Frank, but this wasn’t Frank’s apartment. Was this Ray’s? Did Frank take him to Ray’s house for some reason? To visit? Why couldn’t he remember?

Instead of rushing towards the door he spotted, Gerard crept further into the kitchen. He was hungry, and none of the pain from his nightmare was clinging to him now. It was safe to eat, and no one was here to stop him.

But where was here? Who owned this place? Where the hell was _Frank?_

_Mikey,_ his mind said suddenly. _My brother’s name is Mikey._ Where did that thought come from? Mikey…his brother’s name was Mikey…okay. 

Mikey. Mikey would be…home? Home? Was he at home? 

Suddenly, it came back. Police, interrogations, dental records, officers, Mikey, Mom and Dad…home. He was at home.

This was _his_ house, and everyone in it was asleep.

Gerard crept through the downstairs, finding a dining room and a living room and a staircase leading up. 

_Mikey was going to show you upstairs, but Dad says you’re not allowed up there. You belong in the living room, on the couch. Who said you were allowed in the basement?_

_Mom. Mom said that’s my room and that I sleep there._

_She left you there. You’re allowed in your room and on the couch. You’re not allowed upstairs. They don’t want you upstairs._

Gerard lowered his eyes, feeling as hurt as he would have if someone else had scolded him instead of his own voice inside his head. He was dangerous in his father’s eyes. He wasn’t to be trusted around anyone, so he should stay in the living room and in the basement. 

_Your new master wants you out of sight. Stay out of sight._

His head dropped as he registered the unspoken command. It was just like he’d told Frank. His parents didn’t want him…at least not his dad, anyway. 

_They never wanted you…and, by the way, there’s cocaine in your desk drawer in the basement._

Gerard felt his heart stop in his chest and he gasped. There was cocaine, wasn’t there. Beneath the fake bottom of his middle desk drawer. He didn’t know how he remembered, but he did. He’d bought it, put it there for safe keeping, and then went out again to get a little more so he wouldn’t run out. Only he never got more—he was kidnapped.

So unless some investigator found the fake bottom and took the drugs, there still was—by the way—cocaine in the desk drawer in the basement. 

Gerard was sure of one thing now…he could not go back down there. What if the drugs were there? What if he succumbed to them and started his addiction over? He didn’t want to be dependent anymore. He wanted to have control of at least one little aspect of his life… So until the drugs were gone, he couldn’t go down there. But he couldn’t tell his parents where he hid it. They’d think there was more—and there might have been more—and that he was secretly giving some up so that he could hide the unknown sum that he was actually using.

Maybe Mikey would help…

Gerard looked at the stairs again, wondering if Mikey had come home yet. He was going to find out. He was going up there, and he was going to find out because those drugs needed to go. They had to. He couldn’t rest with them so close.

Carefully, Gerard started up the steps, knowing he was disobeying his master and asking for punishment. He wondered only briefly what that punishment was and how much it would hurt. Dads weren’t allowed to have sex with their sons, so he knew he wouldn’t be raped…but still, there were worse punishments than that.

The top of the stairs was lit with another dim nightlight. Gerard easily found the bathroom, the feeble light glaring off of the tiled floor, but two other rooms with tightly shut doors hid from him which room was his parents’ and which was Mikey’s. He was afraid to knock…he was afraid to move.

He stared at one of the doors for over fifteen minutes before he decided that he was already going to be punished, so he may as well just open the door and look inside to figure out who he’d found.

It was his parents’ room, and he gasped when he found out. Luck wasn’t on his side, was it? 

However, when he tried to close the door, he felt himself drawn inside where the two quiet people slept on the same bed. The first figure he could distinguish in the terrible light was his mother. He felt pulled to her. He wanted to be near her. She kept him safe from…from Dad. At least that was how it felt. 

Swallowing hard, and his better judgment, Gerard pushed the door open more and stepped into the room silently. He knew how to move without making sound. His trainer taught him…

The trainer who told him horrible things…the same way his father told him horrible things. His father was his new trainer. It made Gerard want to cry…

“Mom,” Gerard whimpered softly, too softly for anyone asleep or awake to hear. He couldn’t decide if he wanted her to wake up or not. He was certain that he wanted to be near her, but that was all. Close. He wanted to be close to her the way he had been when they’d been on the couch. “Mom,” he groaned, a little louder, but still not enough to wake her. 

Gerard felt himself becoming anxious, the way he would when he’d been chained in his trainer’s house and he could hear the man walking towards the room he was kept in. Terrified, but praying for the attention. 

He knew that if he woke her, she would wake his father. He didn’t want his father awake. His new master would punish him for trying to…

Trying to what? His mom wasn’t his father’s slave—she wasn’t his whore. And he wasn’t his father’s whore either. He was allowed to see her. Gerard was allowed to be around his mother. He had more of a right to be near her than his father did at least. She’d given birth to him—as a mother and child, they were connected on a level far more intimate than just husband and wife.

So, Gerard decided, in a way, he deserved to be closer to her more than his father did.

His nerves rested when he came to that conclusion, almost instantly. Gerard would never go so far as to say he owned his mother, but he certainly had more of a right to posses her attention than her husband did. The only person who stood in his way of having all of the affection for himself was Mikey, and with him, Gerard was willing to share. He was not willing at all to share with his dad.

Just as Gerard was preparing to enter the room, there was a loud slam downstairs—a door closing—and his knees gave out, dropping him onto the floor with a loud crash. His mother moaned in sleepy surprise, a hand instantly going to her face to wipe stray hairs away from her eyes, and his father spluttered awake, forming incomprehensible words and sitting straight up.

There were several loud thuds downstairs, things being dropped or set down very heavily. Gerard whined softly in alarm, not capable of forming words as years of training flooded back into his brain. His place was downstairs—he wasn’t allowed up here. The masters didn’t want him up here. He needed to go back to his room, regardless of the cocaine—but he was afraid he might use it if he was near it!—before his masters saw him. But if he moved, they were going to see him. Oh shit…they already saw him.

“Gerard? Honey…” His mother sat up when she saw him, and Gerard cringed back from the doorway, sliding backwards on useless legs.

“ _Gerard?_ ” His father responded, almost sounding angry, though the rage could just be lethargic confusion. “He’s making all that noise?”

“No, he’s…he’s at the door.”

“Then what’s making the noise?” His father stayed in bed while his mother quickly got up and came to him, even though he was still trying to back towards the staircase on legs that wouldn’t let him stand.

“It’s just Mikey coming home,” his mother said, irritability outlining her words. “Gerard, what’s the matter?” She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder, making Gerard relax slightly. Mom, he reminded himself, not Master. “Did something scare you?” Gerard leaned into her touch and sighed. His mother stroked his hair gently and looked down the staircase as a light clipped on downstairs. There were footsteps, and then they disappeared for a moment before returning—quick and loud, as if running up steps. Then they quieted again before returning as they approached the stairs. “Come on,” his mother said softly, standing and then helping Gerard onto his feet as the hall light was turned on and Mikey appeared at the bottom of the steps. 

Gerard couldn’t help but smile when he saw him, and then grin a little more when Mikey returned the look.

“You were out late,” their mother said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder to keep him calm through the harsh transmission of words. Gerard forgave her for her anger—Mikey had been gone a long time, she was a mother and she was worried…

“Yeah,” Mikey said, starting up the steps at a slow pace. “Well I was getting Gerard his things since no one else would.” Gerard felt their mom stiffen before she turned to pass a worried look into the bedroom where her husband got to his feet. Instantly, Gerard pulled away from her and moved down the stairs to get behind Mikey. Another fight would be coming, and he didn’t feel safe with just his mother between him and his father. “I lost track of time talking to Frank. He seems like an alright guy.” Their father stepped into the hallway and Gerard stumbled backwards on the steps, almost falling but catching himself just in time. 

“I told you not to do that,” their father said firmly.

“Just leave it,” their mother whispered. “It’s done. Just leave it for tonight.” He looked at her, and seemed to take her advice. 

“Dad, we’re not gonna fight about this. Gerard needs clean clothes—now he’s got some. And his toothbrush, and his notebook. But if you try to take them from him, I will start a fight with you. They’re his things, he’s been through enough, take Mom’s advice and drop it.” The two shared a vicious look that left Gerard paranoid. Their dad looked like he wanted to cause harm…

_To you,_ Gerard’s mind whispered harshly. _He wants to cause harm to you, crack-whore._ Gerard whimpered and took another step backwards down the stairs. 

“Gee?” Mikey said, turning to look at him with gentleness that Gerard didn’t trust anymore. Gerard made a soft noise, knowing that no one would understand that the sound meant he’d be going to his room regardless of the cocaine in the desk there, and continued backing away. “Ah, shit, Gee…don’t…don’t be upset.” Gerard checked his footing and continued until he reached the last step. “Gerard, wait a minute.” Mikey didn’t let him escape, he followed him the two paces he managed away from the staircase and grabbed his shoulder gently. Gerard froze when Mikey touched him. “Don’t be upset, alright?” he whispered. “Dad just acts like that because he doesn’t know what to do. He thinks Frank hurt you, so he’s trying to keep every bit of him away from you.”

“Frank didn’t hurt me,” Gerard mumbled. 

“I know,” Mikey said. Gerard listened to him, but tuned in more to the conversation he heard at the top of the stairs.

“What was he doing up here?”

“He probably got scared down there all by himself.”

“Was he trying to wake us up?”

“I don’t know, Honey. I woke up when Mikey came in—the same time you did.”

“Gerard?” Mikey said, calling Gerard’s attention back to him. Gerard made a soft sound and looked at the floor. “Gee, are you okay?”

“Would you stop with that already?” Their mother spat. Both of the sons looked at the stairs, but neither had caught the statement from their father that had set off her temper. Footsteps were heard as the two re-entered their bedroom and closed the door. “He wasn’t here to hurt us!” 

( ) ( ) ( )

The pained moan Gerard let out left Mikey feeling sick to his stomach. Were the two of them really going to stay up there and fight all night? And why the hell did their dad see Gerard as some sort of satanic monster? The things they’d been told about him weren’t anywhere near bad enough to warrant the treatment their father was giving him. 

“Want to take your stuff to your room?” Mikey asked, rubbing Gerard’s back gently.

“No,” Gerard said, sounding horrified. “No! _No!_ ”

“Okay,” Mikey replied. “Okay, you don’t want to go down there. I understand. I won’t make you.” Gerard didn’t seem to relax. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“I want Frank,” Gerard stated. His tone was both blunt and uneasy. He flinched like he expected to get slapped for suggesting it.

“Frank went to bed. He has work in the morning. Maybe I can sneak you out during his shift and we can visit him there. Would that be okay?” Gerard perked up at that—not seeming to take in the amount of risk involved in the task. Their dad was going to be pissed if they succeeded, furious if they even tried. 

“Can I see your room?” Gerard asked quietly, looking back down at the floor. Mikey glanced at the stairs, only mumbles filling the house, not shouts. 

“Sure,” Mikey answered, offering Gerard a smile. “Do you want to stay in my room tonight?” He was afraid that Gerard would act terrified of the suggestion, but it seemed to please him. Gerard nodded eagerly and returned to the base of the stairs, waiting for a signal to go up. “Okay, just let me shut off the lights down here first.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard laid in the bed with his head on Mikey’s shoulder, loving every bit of the attention. Mikey had fallen asleep long ago, but Gerard didn’t mind. It was good to be close to someone again. It was good to be away from the cocaine in his desk…

The truth was, he was still too afraid to sleep. He was afraid of what nightmare might come and scare him awake, how he might react to having Mikey touching him when he did come back to consciousness. He tried to keep awake, but sleep kept enticing him. He felt so safe lying on Mikey’s shoulder, their legs tangled slightly. 

Gerard was content, so content… _so content_. So this was what it was like to lay next to someone who could never, ever hurt you.

That was his last thought before he fell asleep.


	11. All the Lies in the Books

Mikey felt bad when he had to pull his arm out from underneath Gerard’s head, and felt worse when his brother whimpered in his sleep as his head met the pillow. When he began to pull his legs away from Gerard’s beneath the blankets, his heart sunk even more as Gerard squirmed closer and threw an arm over him in a lethargic attempt to keep Mikey trapped.

Mikey pushed the arm away despite Gerard’s sad groan, and sat up, pulling his legs to his chest to keep them from becoming conveniently tangled in Gerard’s again. If there was one thing Gerard seemed to know how to do, it was keep a person in bed.

“It’s not time for work yet…stay,” Gerard mumbled, eyes closed tight against the dim sunlight that bled in through the curtains.

“I need the bathroom. I’ll come back.” Gerard moaned softly, a sort of complaint, but allowed Mikey to climb out of bed and disappear from the room. As he retreated into the hallway, he began to wonder if Gerard remembered where he was, or if he was preparing to collapse into another breakdown after hours of getting him calm enough to try to sleep. He’d told Mikey that it wasn’t time for work yet…obviously, he thought he was laying with someone else.

Duh, Mikey thought, closing the bathroom door and making sure to lock it just incase someone decided to follow him—the fact that Gerard had no idea who he was with should have been obvious because of the way he’d tried so desperately to keep him in bed by tangling their legs and crawling on top of him.

He washed his hands and reopened the bathroom door, listening to the sounds in his house at six-thirty in the morning. His parents were both downstairs, discussing something important based on the tones of their voices…probably arguing about Gerard…but everything else was silent. He crept back into his bedroom, closing the door quietly and hoping his parents wouldn’t hear and try to coax him downstairs to join in their little argument, and neared the bed.

As much as he wanted to crawl back in beside Gerard and return to sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to be selfish enough to do it. At that moment, Gerard was probably mistaking him for Frank, or someone worse. It would be cruel to let the delusion go on. He’d have to wake him the rest of the way.

“Gerard,” Mikey said aloud, making his brother stir slightly. “Are you awake, Gee?” Gerard shifted more until he had himself propped up on his elbows. He turned his head towards the empty side of the narrow bed and examined it before looking in the other direction, looking over the unfamiliar room, and then finally looking over his shoulder where Mikey stood. Gerard looked so confused.

“Mikey?” Gerard asked quietly, his voice sounding weak. 

“Yeah. It’s just me,” Mikey said as he moved to get back on the bed. Gerard watched him carefully, but seemed pleased to have him close again.

“Where are…Mom and Dad? Are they at work?” As Gerard asked, he turned his face away as if ashamed of speaking. 

“No, they’re downstairs.” Mikey went over to the bed and sat down beside Gerard. “I still have class today…and I’m sure Mom and Dad won’t be happy if I skip. They’ll want time alone with you.”

“Mikey’s still in school,” Gerard stated. His tone suggested confusion, but he still kept his face turned so Mikey couldn’t see what emotion was showing on his face.

“It’s my first year of college.” Gerard made a sound and rolled onto his back so that he could alternately look at the ceiling and Mikey’s face. Gerard said nothing else, so Mikey let the topic fade out. “Do you want breakfast?” At first, Gerard looked like he was about to start to cry, but then he nodded and sat up. “Okay. Let me get dressed first, then…” Mikey’s sentence abruptly ended when Gerard leaned over and pushed his head against his shoulder. Mikey lifted a hand to touch Gerard’s hair and sighed. He wished Gerard would just talk, say what he was thinking and ask for what he wanted. It was too hard to guess what each of his motions meant. Was this a way of saying ‘I want to wait a little bit before going downstairs’ or was Gerard just showing affection? 

Gently, Mikey wrapped his arms around Gerard’s shoulder and held him closer. Gerard sighed in what seemed like a content way and moved closer on the bed. Mikey lowered his head to rest it against Gerard’s and nuzzled his hair softly. 

For Mikey, it was slowly sinking in. Gerard was here. He was in horrible condition, but he was alive—so close to having been killed, but spared by a strange twist in fate. What were the odds that a man who rarely played the lottery would buy the winning ticket and use the prize to save a life—whether intentionally or not? Save more than one life with a few hundred dollars…

Despite Gerard’s quiet whimper of protest, Mikey tightened his grip around Gerard’s shoulders and held him closer. He felt his own arms beginning to shake and was instantly choked by tears he hadn’t let fall before.

They were so lucky—didn’t the rest of the family see how lucky they were? Gerard had been looking death in the eye before that lucky, _merciful_ , waiter stumbled across him. It was hurtful enough to be the only one who had to convince himself each morning that Gerard was still out there, breathing at least and alive at most, but it would have been torture to spend a lifetime swallowing that pill of self-deceit only to find out in death that he’d been wrong the whole time and that the mother who spent hours crying because she lacked hope had been right. 

Mikey lifted his head to sniff back tears of far too many emotions to list and kissed the top of Gerard’s head before nuzzling it once more. Gerard sighed, but more out of boredom than contentment. Mikey could tell the difference and it made him chuckle quietly. It was good to know that Gerard felt well enough to believe that tears and over-the-top affection were wasted on him. Still, despite Gerard’s disinterest in it, Mikey didn’t think he could let go of him unless someone came upstairs with a crowbar and a gun. He finally had his brother back, and there was no motherfucker alive who was going to take him away again.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard sat at the table watching everyone else eat. No matter how many times his mother or Mikey told him he could take a bite, it still seemed wrong to. He was hungry, the food looked good, his mom had made it for him…but it was just—

“Gerard, _eat_.” Suddenly, when his father told him to, eating sounded like a really good idea. The food was entirely cold by the time he started, but it was still good…and hell, there was even meat. He never complained about the lack of it in the meals Frank made, but he did miss being a carnivore.

Even though he started last, Gerard still finished the food first, making sure not to miss a piece of it even though half of his mind screamed at him that there was going to be more food and that he could eat in this house whenever he wanted. 

“Gerard, I made more if you want it,” his mother said, touching his shoulder when she spoke. He chose to look at her hand instead of her face. “Are you still hungry?” Gerard looked towards his father who met his gaze firmly. He could tell that his dad wanted him to answer for himself, but it felt impossible to do that.

Gerard didn’t know what force it was, but he knew that he couldn’t answer her on his own. Was he still hungry? He didn’t know…well, he did. Kind of. He was still a little hungry, but what did Dad think? 

Gerard couldn’t eat until he knew.

“Go ahead and get him some more,” his father answered, gesturing towards the kitchen. Gerard turned so he could watch his mother get up from the table and go to retrieve more food. When she was gone, he looked back at the table and caught a glance of Mikey who had his head in his hands and looked like he was about to be sick.

He turned to catch his father’s gaze and then looked back at Mikey—Mikey who was now looking him straight in the eye and making him nervous.

“What, Gerard?” Their father asked, looking back at his plate in order to focus on his food to take another bite. Gerard stared at him until he looked back up and then glanced at Mikey again before making eye contact with his dad again. Their dad turned his eyes to Mikey, looked him over, and then refocused on his plate. “What’s the matter, Mikey?”

Mikey leaned back in his seat and let his arms fall into his lap. To Gerard, he looked tired and kind of angry. 

“You don’t see it at all, do you, Dad?” Mikey said before sighing deeply.

“See what?” Their mother came back with another plate for Gerard, the food sizzling after being reheated in the microwave. She grabbed the empty plate that sat in front of him and replaced it with the full one, passing an almost warning glance to her husband before slipping back out of the room. “See _what_ , Mikey?” He repeated when Mikey didn’t answer. Gerard flinched at his tone, but tried to hide it by pretending to be cold despite his sweatshirt. 

“Gerard’s…How do I word this,” Mikey said, sighing again and rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. “Let’s see. He only ate when you told him to, he looked to you for an answer when Mom asked him a question, and he also looked to you for permission to ask about me. Do I need to connect the dots, or do you see that pattern?” Gerard sunk into himself a little, embarrassed and more than a little bit ashamed. The way his father started looking at him conveyed that he understood. It made Gerard feel disgusted with himself. Look at the whore, so well trained that it can’t move without its master’s permission…so well trained it’ll obey anyone who fits the description of a master. So well trained it wants a master more than a mother and a father…

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey was coming home from class for his lunch break…and he’d made a point to whisper in Gerard’s ear before he left that he still intended to try to get him to the diner so he could see Frank. It was pointless to say that Gerard was impatient for him to come home. He sat on the couch in the living room beside his mother who kept trying to talk to him while petting his shoulder like one would a cat—at a loss for what else to do. His father kept watching him from his seat in the chair, as if expecting him to snap and tear into the woman Gerard really did wish would stop petting him but didn’t bother to stop. 

The television was playing, but Gerard only looked at it when something came on that was loud or he liked the music playing the background of a scene—and even then it only held his attention for a handful of minutes before he returned his focus to the doorway, intently listening for sounds that indicated Mikey had come home.

“Sweetheart, he’s not going to be home for another couple of hours,” his mother said after an eternity on that couch. Gerard moaned softly, but didn’t take his eyes off of the doorway. “Honey,” his mother said, pleading with him. He made another noise, knowing he should look at her but wishing that time would go faster so Mikey could be home…and it wasn’t just about Frank either. He felt incomplete when Mikey was missing from the house. It wasn’t right for him to be gone. “Gerard…”

“Mom…” Gerard repeated in the same tone, knowing it was a snotty thing to do, but wishing she’d let him be…let him wait by the door for his little brother like a dog.

“We need to give him something to do,” his mother said to his father, finally done petting her son’s shoulder. “I can’t have him sit here for four hours waiting for Mikey to come home for an hour and half and then wait another four hours for him to come back again once his break is over.”

“He doesn’t want to do anything,” his father said. “I don’t know what that man did to him, but maybe all he knows how to do is sit there and wait for people to come home.” Gerard made a discontented noise and narrowed his eyes as he watched the doorway. ‘Maybe all he knows how to do is sit and wait for people to come home’—Gerard scoffed at it in his mind. He knew how to do a hell of a lot more than just that…

“Stop it,” his mother snapped back. 

“It could be true,” his father replied. His tone wasn’t harsh or mean. In a way, it was almost sympathetic—as if he was somehow trying to get his son’s attention. “Is it impossible to believe that he had to wait for those other men to come home from work with nothing else to do?”

“Oh, what does that even mean?” His wife snapped back at him. Gerard could tell by her tone that she didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to know about it. She didn’t want to hear it anymore than Gerard wanted to remember it.

_Fuck with them,_ a voice in Gerard’s head commanded suddenly. _Go on. Fuck with them a little…_ He didn’t know why, but he really felt compelled to listen. He didn’t want to upset his mother, but his father was a fair victim.

“I don’t know what men you mean,” Gerard said, suddenly turning away from the doorway and looking his father in the eye. He forced on a look of confusion and blinked like someone fighting tears. “My first master never left the house and…and my second keeper—I cleaned the house while he was gone and made sure everything was pretty when he got home.” Gerard made the point to look away at the wall as if he was distressed. “Maybe if I’d cleaned better that day he would’ve let me stay.” His mother turned away from him instantly, more wounded than his father was. Gerard knew it would take more to upset him than that. But what would it take? Something dramatic, something awful…but nothing so terrible that it crushed his mom who was still sitting right there—and nothing so devastating it would terrorize him just to recall it… 

Maybe something from the day he’d learned his home was gone? That his master had tired of him? What happened that day? What was memorable? Master left for work after sex in the shower…Master said goodbye to Joshua before he’d said goodbye to him… Gerard cleaned the most important rooms and left the insignificant ones for Joshua. He’d done the rounds many times to make sure nothing was out of place because Master would be home soon. He’d put on his make-up to make sure he looked his best, fought with Joshua, Master came home…Master told him.

What in there could devastate his father? The fact he’d put on make-up? Maybe. What would work? _What_ would work?

Maybe if he spoke of how beautiful Frank had looked when he walked towards the stage that night. The way their eyes had met and all Gerard could think to do was glare at him, even though he saw warmth and love in Frank’s eyes—emotions he hadn’t seen in so long.

Maybe he’d tell of how he’d been so desperate to stay with his master that he wanted to be killed rather than sold, even to the man with the loving eyes—so long as his last seconds were with his master. Maybe if he told them about how the fabric of his master’s jeans chaffed his tearstained face as he’d nuzzled the man’s leg in a last desperate attempt to make him change his mind as the man petted his hair so lovingly. His master didn’t want to kill him… Maybe if he told them that his master hadn’t wanted to kill him, but just needed him out of the way because he was more trouble than he was worth—because Gerard was worthless. 

Suddenly, playing with his father’s head didn’t sound like such a good idea anymore. Now he was just insecure—he’d let his thoughts go too far.

“Dad, do you think that if Frank had been there for the same reason as the other men he would’ve still bought me? I mean…I’m pretty, right? So he would’ve wanted me anyway, right? Even if he wanted to be a master and not my friend?” Gerard really wished he could word it better because he wanted an answer. Someone wanted him, right? He wasn’t useless, right? Someone would’ve taken him in, right? Master wouldn’t have had to kill him, right? Master loved him, right? So he wouldn’t have killed him…right? Right? Wasn’t something _right!?_

But Dad wasn’t answering…

“Mom?” Gerard pleaded, looking at her desperately. She kept her face hidden. “Mom? Dad?” The man looked away from him. “Please answer me! _Someone_ wants me, right!?”

“ _Yes_ , Gerard!” His mother exclaimed, looking at him both angry and hurt before grabbing him and pulling him into a hug that scared him. “God, _we_ want you—but not like they did, okay?” she choked out, starting to cry. Gerard clung to her, accepting the warmth. “You’re our son—we want you here with us, we love you. Not like those men did…we never wanted you get hurt.” Even in his half-way panicked mind, Gerard could still tell that she was desperately rambling—forcing out every thought and feeling she had so it wouldn’t overwhelm her. He wanted to console her, but he didn’t know how—and with his father watching him like a prison warden, he was afraid to do little more than hug her.

“My master didn’t hurt me much,” Gerard whimpered to her, afraid that if his father heard he’d be in trouble and suspecting that the man heard him just the same. “Really.”

“How do you say that?” His mother sobbed in response, pushing him back a little and breaking their embrace so she could see his face. “Gerard, we know what he did to you.”

“It wasn’t pain,” Gerard mumbled, glancing at his father and then back at his mom. “Life was easy—I just had to please him and I was okay. And he wasn’t hard to please, and he wasn’t mean. Mom, he didn’t hurt me, I promise.” She didn’t look convinced. She’d closed her eyes and shook her head as if dismissing his words. “My trainer hurt me—he taught me pain. I know pain from him—so I _know_ I wasn’t hurt by Master. He really cared for me.” She moaned as if in pain and Gerard pulled back from her, scooting away a little on the couch. He didn’t understand why his words didn’t console her.

“That’s enough, Gerard,” his father said, getting up from his seat. Somehow, Gerard knew he was going to be struck, so as his father drew closer he turned his face away and cowered. He knew he should have faced his punishment and accepted it, but he was terrified of the pain. Each sound made him flinch as his father finally reached him, but the gentle touch of his father stroking his hair made him jolt. There was nothing worse than being pleasured when he expected pain…but he leaned into the gently caressing hand heavily and sighed, allowing himself to relax. He didn’t even stiffen when his father sat down beside him.

He felt soothed.

He wanted to sleep…

( ) ( ) ( )

When Mikey came home during his break for lunch, he found his parents both sitting on the couch with Gerard sleeping in between them, his head leaning on their mother’s shoulder. Everyone looked stressed except for Gerard who was completely lost in dreaming—something that would probably turn into a horrific nightmare if he wasn’t woken up before long.

“Something happen?” Mikey asked quietly, staying in the doorway even though both of his parents had given him welcoming glances. 

“He was waiting for you to come home,” his mother said, offering him a smile and holding something else back. Yeah, he thought, something happened that neither of them knew how to explain.

“Well, I’m home…” Mikey stated, looking over at the quietly playing television. He heard Gerard groan and looked back at the couch. Their mother was waking him even though her husband was giving her a skeptical look.

Gerard opened his eyes but saw straight through everything he was seeing…awake, but still so deeply asleep.

“Gerard, Mikey’s home…it’s time for lunch.” Gerard made a sound and buried his face against her shoulder more, making her smile as if she’d been paid the world’s most flattering compliment. “Come on, Honey. You have to get up.” Gerard grunted but pulled himself up, looking half-asleep but finally aware of what was going on around him. When he caught sight of Mikey, though, his eyes lit up and he was on his feet in an instant, practically ambushing his younger brother. 

Mikey wished the excitement actually had something to do with him, and not the fact that he promised to try to reunite him with Frank at the diner.

“I missed you,” Gerard half grunted, half whispered in his ear. Mikey fought the urge to sigh. “How long before you have to go back?” Gerard let go of him so they could look at each other as they talked, and probably so their father wouldn’t pry them apart ‘for their own safety’.

“An hour and a half,” Mikey answered, wondering why Gerard’s excitement was flowing away. 

“I’ll go make us something to eat,” their mother said, getting up from the couch and heading towards the kitchen. Their father followed her, not passing either of his sons any looks. Once they were gone, Mikey focused on his promise.

“Gerard, I don’t know how we’re going to even try to do this.”

“Do what?” Gerard asked, tilting his head a little and put on this innocence that Mikey neither comprehended nor appreciated. 

“Go to the diner to see Frank.” Gerard looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes widened. Mikey didn’t think it was possible, but he felt for sure that Gerard had somehow forgotten about that.

“You still want to do that?” Gerard asked, smiling a little.

“I guess,” Mikey answered, “but I don’t even know how we’d try… That’s the problem. I—”

“Don’t worry,” Gerard said, his tone becoming so normal, so confident, that it left Mikey confused. “I’ll ask Mom.” 

“Don’t!” Mikey had to remind himself to whisper and not shout. Gerard was already starting for the kitchen when Mikey grabbed his arm to stop him. “Don’t do that.” Gerard looked at him and shook his head.

“Trust me, Mikey,” he said in that same tone. “Right now, they’ll do anything I ask them to.” Mikey really wished he knew where that confidence was coming from, and wondered if it had to do with the thing that his parents didn’t even know how to describe—whatever had happened while he was in class. 

Mikey was rooted to the spot in the living room doorway, petrified of what could possibly happen as Gerard slipped into the kitchen.

“Mom,” Gerard said in some sort of strange, feeble voice. Mikey really didn’t think that this would work, but what did he know? Maybe their father had done something stupid and mean again and Gerard had them both strung up on a guilt trip… 

“What is it, sweetheart?” their mother asked. Mikey crept so that he could see into the kitchen, trying not to be seen even though he already knew his parents would be aware of his involvement in Gerard’s plan.

“I want to go out to eat today—I never get to go out. I haven’t been out to eat since…since the last time _we_ went out together.” Mikey felt his skin go cold as he watched their mother turn to their father with an open, gaping mouth as she tried to think up an answer. Gerard was playing innocent so well, but Mikey could see every nerve rippling under Gerard’s skin—vibrating with the intensity of his manipulative words. “I really just want to go out…I-I’ll let them do the exam if…if we can go out for lunch today.” It was perfect, Mikey thought. Gerard’s scheme was perfect—just give them an offer they couldn’t refuse.

“I don’t know,” their mother stammered, trying not to look into Gerard’s pleading eyes. “Honey, we—”

“Dad said you were going to take me out to buy new things anyway…” Gerard looked at the floor and then dared a glance at their father. To Mikey’s surprise, he held his father’s gaze until the man looked away.

“Fine,” their father said, and Mikey felt his jaw drop. Seriously? They were giving in that easily? 

“Well…Well, where should we go?” Their mother asked, stammering on every ‘w’ and shaking her head the whole time she spoke. Mikey felt that it was possible their father was giving in so easily because he was apologizing for all of the previous day’s mishaps, but their mother was just devastated and ignored. She wanted to keep Gerard in the house, keep him safe and swaddled in love and protection. In her eyes, the outside world was just a cluster-fuck of sick-minded men with deranged fantasies that they wanted to act out using her son. Gerard ignored her sadness and anxious glances, just as his father did. “Where…where do you want to go?” How would he answer that? Mikey came into the room and leaned against the wall, watching anxiously and afraid of where his once innocent plot to reunite friends was going to lead. 

“I want to go where Frank works,” Gerard said, false innocence on its maximum gradient. 

“No,” their father snapped, shaking his head and looking at Gerard exhaustedly. “Absolutely not.” Gerard made a choked sound and looked to his mother who offered him no support. 

“I want to see him,” Gerard whimpered. “He was nice to me.”

“No,” their father repeated, his voice firm. “The answer is no, Gerard. Pick someplace else.”

“I don’t want to,” Gerard snapped back, his false innocence hanging by a thread. The argument hadn’t even begun yet and Gerard was already losing his temper. Mikey was wary about that. Frank had told him about Gerard’s moods—how fake some of them were and how frighteningly intense the real ones could be. 

Gerard wasn’t broken, he was wounded—and hurt—and very, very angry. It was a sort of deep-rooted fury that he probably didn’t even register himself, buried in the heart he’d been forced to give up in order to live the life he was handed and couldn’t refuse. It was an anger from being denied too many things—freedom, affection, kindness…—and it was easily possible to presume that Gerard didn’t like to hear the word ‘no’ when he wasn’t busy surrendering himself to another master.

For the first time, Mikey had the thought he probably should have had from the first instant he opened his mouth. He wondered what he’d started.

“Gerard, you are not going to go hunting down that man,” their father said, matching Gerard’s tone. “I understand that you’re attached to him, but—”

“He saved my life!” Gerard retorted, not yet showing anger but a deranged form of desperation and a desire to have his opinion understood. “He…he took me in! He bought me clothes—I was rude to his friend and he never once did anything to hurt me! Why can’t I see him? Dad, he _saved_ me! You should be thanking him! He could’ve just left me there to be killed—do you know how they kill us? Have you seen it, Dad? because I don’t think you have!” There was the rage. Mikey left his post by the wall and went to Gerard’s side, touching his arm in hopes of calming him down. His older brother ignored it. “I have though! I’ve seen what they do! They torture you—they make you suffer whether you did something wrong or not! Whether you deserved it or not!”

“Okay, Gerard,” their father said, looking down at the floor and shaking his head. To Mikey, the man looked painfully close to tears. Silent tears were already falling from their mother’s eyes, but Gerard didn’t seem to notice. Mikey didn’t think Gerard was trying to inflict damage at that point, even though that was exactly what he was doing. Something in his brother’s eyes looked desperate, like he was looking for reassurance…or maybe he just wanted to talk about it, express his greatest fears and get the horror of his life off of his chest. 

“Th-they break your bones, and-and they’ll cut you open—they’ll make you suffer until you bleed to death! He saved me from that—Frank saved me from that, and I just want to see him! Eight years, Dad, and he was the first person to be nice to me…I just want to see him. He’s the only friend I have.”

“Fine, Gerard,” their father said, shaking his head and looking up from the floor. He looked straight past Gerard, not making eye-contact with him, and started for the door, grabbing his car keys off of the rack as he passed it. Gerard seemed to notice that he’d taken things too far because his eyes lost their intensity and he looked towards his mother who was wiping her eyes and nudging a box on the counter with her knuckles absently—slowly putting it back into place against the wall beneath the cupboards. 

“It’s okay,” Mikey said to his brother quietly, beginning to rub Gerard’s shoulder a little more insistently. Gerard made a soft sound, almost as if in pain, and looked towards the door their father had exited out of and didn’t bother to close behind him. The car door slammed, but the engine stayed silent, not yet sprung into life. 

“Mom?” Gerard said quietly, hardly any more than a whisper. She didn’t answer anymore than to sniff. Gerard moaned softly and glanced at Mikey worriedly, his eyes asking too many questions to register. 

“You didn’t have to be…so graphic with them,” Mikey mumbled, answering one of the questions written on Gerard’s face—the one that asked what he’d done wrong. Gerard’s expression after that left Mikey curious. His brother looked somewhat ashamed—like he hadn’t meant to cause harm—but the shadows in his eyes said he was glad that inflicted pain because he’d gotten what he’d wanted in the end. Overall, Gerard was pleased. It was disgustingly obvious.

( ) ( ) ( )

The drive to the restaurant was silent and awkward. Gerard could feel the guilt rising in his throat and eating away at him, erasing every good feeling he’d had about seeing Frank. He hadn’t meant to make his mother cry—hadn’t meant to describe the way that whores were killed, but taunted so badly by the images that had invaded his head that he needed explain them to get them to leave him in peace—hadn’t meant to upset his father so badly that he’d nearly cried himself.

For a fraction of the drive he wished he was dead—strapped to a metal table with hammers busting his leg bones and needles going slowly towards his eyes.

In the end, it was all too much. Before his parents could open the front doors of the diner that Gerard vaguely recognized, he grabbed his father in a nearly protective embrace and tried to express his remorse by rutting his forehead against the man’s shoulder. His father seemed to accept it. He clapped a hand gently against Gerard’s back once the hug had gone on for, presumably, too long, and pulled back. 

When Gerard tried to give the same treatment to his mom—who was starting to look as emotionally dead and drained as some of the female whores in the back of the auction house—Mikey blocked him and ushered him into the doors of the diner. It pissed Gerard off a little bit because, at that moment, he didn’t care about Frank. He was worried about his mom…Frank was fine, Frank wasn’t mad at him or on the verge of denying affection.

He’d denied affection all along…

A female waitress with her short hair pulled back in an even shorter ponytail guided them to their table with a massive, put-on smile. Her eyes betrayed her nervousness at the sight of the dreary mood on her patrons’ faces. Gerard wanted to feel sympathetic for her, but all he could feel was curious…he wondered if she’d ever been raped, and what she would look like screaming for mercy as a vicious man pounded away between her legs.

She seemed nice…he hoped no man ever had reduced her to such a state.

Mikey took charge after the girl had taken their order for drinks—Gerard was pleased to order a Coke like Frank kept around the house even though the coffee had tempted him—and asked if Frank was working. Of course, he was. He requested him as a waiter, and the girl insisted that she’d “make it happen”.

In the booths, Gerard made a point to sit beside his mother and across from Mikey, still wanting the diagonal space between himself and his father like during meals at home. The man didn’t seem to care…

“Mom,” Gerard mumbled, not bothering with the menu anymore since he’d long since lost his appetite. She didn’t respond. “Mom?” She blinked and turned to look at him, putting on a weak smile that didn’t last because she wouldn’t look at his face. 

“What, dear?” 

“I love you…you believe that right?” She sighed and nodded before turning back the menu she wasn’t really reading. Gerard could tell by the inattentive look on her face. He thought the words might fix her, but they didn’t. He glanced at Mikey who shot a look towards the other side of the diner where the separator that blocked the kitchen from the seating-area stood. Frank was standing there looking pale and rigid. 

At the moment, Gerard couldn’t be bothered by his presence. He looked back at his mother and made a soft sound in attempt to get her attention. She didn’t look at him, just stared at her menu. 

“More than Frank, Mom,” Gerard said, searching inside himself to see if the words were true. He decided they were. Mother…family…he guessed that even had more love towards his father than Frank—somewhere in his blocked off heart. 

“You’re not looking at your menu, honey,” she said in response. Gerard felt like he’d been slapped…but he guessed he deserved it. She didn’t want to be here, he’d forced her to do something she didn’t want to—she had no reason to like him or even love him now.

He wished he was dead…life would be easier if he was dead, even if the process was painful and slow. For all the wrong he’d done, he deserved it and he knew it. Broken bones, jagged cuts, burns and blindness—he deserved it all and more. After all, he’d displeased his master…gotten himself sold to someone unworthy of owning him.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to see Frank anymore, but he doubted his parents would let him leave. They’d probably shout at him for making them go out for no reason…

“Gerard,” Mikey said, pulling Gerard’s attention from the list of drinks on the back of his menu. Gerard looked at him, expecting to see some sort of anger or hurt on his face, too. There wasn’t any. Just compassion. Gerard looked away because he didn’t deserve it. “Gee, you’re not…you’re not going to make me have to order for you, are you? Because you know I’ll get something you hate, just to piss you off.” Gerard thought to say that he knew better than to refuse what he was offered, and that he ate anything he was given graciously and without complaint whether he liked it or not—whether it was _rotten_ or not. However, he held back because he didn’t need to upset them all any more than they already were. 

Mom was still trying not to cry, and Dad had detached himself completely and was lost somewhere in a list of sandwiches. 

“I…I don’t…Pick something for me?” Gerard asked quietly, looking and Mikey and hoping his little brother would do so without putting up a fight.

“’Kay,” Mikey answered, simply enough, dropping his face to look at the menu again. As he examined the laminated pages, Gerard turned his focus back to his mother. He didn’t know how he could fix her, make her happy again, since words didn’t help. She wasn’t like a master. He couldn’t fall in front of her and blow her and win her affection…come to think of it, he couldn’t do that for his father either. He was at a loss for what to do with these people…so he settled for leaning his head on his mother’s shoulder and sighing. 

“Honey…you should—”

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Gerard said abruptly. “I started remembering things, and the only way to make them go away was to talk about it,” he added in a much quieter voice. “I didn’t bring it up right, but the memories…they scared me. I didn’t mean to make you sad. Talking about those things scared me.” She seemed soothed after that, but not wholly repaired. She was, however, healed enough to force him to sit up and kiss him on the cheek before looking over her menu as if for the first time. 

It was at that time that Frank slunk over, carrying the tray of drinks and looking horribly nervous. Gerard found the trembling of his hands as he handed out the four drinks to be incredibly cute…the shaking of his arm rattling the ice inside the glasses.

“Okay,” Frank stammered. When he spoke, Gerard felt compelled to keep staring at him, but also terrified of upsetting his family by doing it, so he kept looking from his menu to Frank’s worried eyes and back to the menu again. He wished he could be happy that he was seeing him again… “Do, uh, do…do you know what…what you want to o-order or…or do you need more ti-time?” Oh, but that stammering was so cute. Gerard just wanted to climb over his mother on the seat and hug the man. 

“Hi, Frank,” Gerard said when no one answered his former master’s question.

“H-hey, Gerard,” Frank mumbled back, focusing intently on the notepad in his hand and not on Gerard’s face. 

“You know he’s here to see you, so you may as well look at him,” his father snapped, getting Gerard’s attention as well as Frank’s. As happy as Gerard was that Frank finally looked him in the eye, the emotion was made weak by Frank’s obvious unhappiness. Maybe it was possible that Frank had been hoping to never have to see him again… After all, Gerard decided, Frank was like the rest of his family—none of them had a reason to like him now. He was used, broken, and worthless. Not even worth five hundred dollars when he’d once been worth thousands…Frank had even said that at the auction house.

_“Four seventy five!”_ Frank had argued that night. _“He fuckin’ bites.”_ And Frank knew nothing about whores and what price one was worthy of. Gerard bet that Frank was off by hundreds of dollars…in fact, he felt for sure that there was food on this menu worth more than he was.

The realization made Gerard feel as if a fist had closed tightly around his heart. He suddenly didn’t want to see anyone anymore—especially not Frank.

“Gerard, you’re getting upset again,” Mikey said, somehow reading the emotion off of his brother’s face when he was still looking over the menu. “I can feel it.” His tone was so apathetic…somehow, that was comforting. 

“It’s alright, honey,” their mother said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder gently. Her touch was like acid by that point. Gerard caught Frank looking at him questioningly and turned his face away.

“Gerard must not have had his coffee this morning,” Frank stated in a half-playful tone while scribbling something on his notepad. The miniscule joke lightened Gerard’s mood a little—just like it was supposed to—and brought him out of his haze.

“Mikey took it all,” Gerard replied with a laugh that he had to force. 

“No—don’t blame it on me,” Mikey replied, still letting the menu hold most of his attention. “Dad used the last of the coffee when he got up this morning. I had to buy mine at the school. It was horrible.”

“I need that coffee a lot more than you do,” their father snapped back. Even though his tone was harsh, it still sounded like he was just playing along. “I’m old—it takes a lot of caffeine to keep me from falling into my grave. You don’t want your old man dead, do you?”

“Nah,” Mikey answered. “I don’t make enough to pay the bills. I don’t want to lose the house. I think we’ll keep you around a few more years.”

“Don’t talk about death at the table,” their mother commented, coming away from her cloudy thoughts as well.

“Now I want coffee,” Gerard complained, grabbing the soda he ordered and drinking from the glass without using the straw. 

“So get a coffee,” his dad answered.

“Coffee,” Frank repeated, scratching the order down on the notepad. “Mikey, do you want a coffee?” Frank seemed to have found his confidence again, and it made Gerard feel more secure. It no longer seemed like a fight was about to break out.

“Well, now I do,” Mikey answered, looking up from the menu and offering Frank a smile. 

“Two coffees…and to eat?” And then the nerves were back. Frank looked up from his notepad, took one look at the father and started to shake again. 

“Just get me this,” their father said, pointing at something on the menu. Frank nodded and glanced at their mother who screwed her face up and stared at the listed food.

“I need a minute…” she said. Frank looked at Gerard who in turn glanced at Mikey. Mikey ordered two of the same thing—one for himself and one for Gerard—and handed the menus over to Frank who folded them under one arm. It was still a few moments before their mother decided on something, but she seemed content with her choice…and more relaxed than ever when Frank went away. “He seems…like a nice boy, doesn’t he?” their mother said after several minutes of silence at the table during which Gerard finished his soda so as to not waste it and Mikey stirred the ice in his own with his straw.

“He’s a mess,” their father grumbled, staring at his drink.

“Well, Dad, he’s scared of you,” Gerard choked out, defending the only friend he had. It made him nervous to speak against his father—the man who acted far too much like a master—but he couldn’t control himself. “You’re…a scary person when you get mad.” The table was quiet again, except for Mikey stirring his drink. “Are you mad?” Gerard asked, biting into his lower lip. 

“No,” his dad answered, looking at the drink and not his son. 

“Well…” Just then, Frank returned with the coffees, giving Mikey his first and then setting one in front of Gerard. Gerard made a point to touch their fingers together when Frank started pulling his hand away, getting Frank’s attention and meeting his gaze for a moment. Frank offered him a smile and pulled his hand the rest of the way back across the table.

His father caught the shared glance, but didn’t say anything about it, even after Frank had gone away again.

The moment the silence became too much to bear—everyone feeling too awkward to speak—Gerard leaned over onto his mother again and let her shoulder serve as a pillow. She didn’t seem to mind.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank thought he was dead—wished he was dead, really _wanted_ to be dead. What was Gerard thinking coming here? And his parents, too… God, he could feel the hatred pouring out of that man—Gerard’s father. He didn’t want to go back out there, he wanted the food to take as long as possible, get screwed up and have to be made all over…maybe they’d all get impatient and leave…

But it was pointless to think that. Gerard wanted to see him, obviously, and they’d agreed to let him have his way. It wasn’t that Frank didn’t care to see Gerard, it just made him nervous. What if, somehow, he messed something up? What if seeing him made Gerard get worse instead of better—he’d gone home, he was supposed to recover from his old traumas and live out his life without thinking of slavery or tortures. Frank had saved him from that life—so remembering Frank would inevitably lead Gerard to remember the other masters, too. 

It was hard seeing Gerard, even if he’d just been rid of him the day before. He did miss having the man around, even if he’d just been in the apartment for a few days. That made him nervous…in a way, he was afraid of himself. He was attached to the man and he knew it, attached to the slave he’d rescued…he wanted Gerard with him, wanted to constantly know that he was okay and happy. Gerard was all he could think about since he’d left the police station. 

Frank kept telling himself that some time away from Gerard would cure him of his constant worries, but that didn’t seem like it would be possible. After a single day, Gerard had convinced his family to let them reunite (if only for a little while). What would he coerce them into later? Invite him over for diner? Join the family vacation? Sleepovers? 

If it kept up—which there was no telling if it would or not—Gerard was never going to let them be split up. He was still drawn to his “master”…

But there was just no telling if Gerard would keep it up. Maybe Gerard just wanted to see him this one last time? Maybe Gerard would get bored of him very quickly and just melt back into his family, putting Frank in the farthest corner of his mind possible.

That was it, Frank realized with a start. He didn’t want to let that happen… He liked Gerard. He wanted to see Gerard get better and be part of his life. He didn’t want to let Gerard go.

_But why?_ He asked himself. He knew Gerard wasn’t his, and that he couldn’t keep him like a person would a dog. 

_You’re just lonely,_ he told himself. _You’re lonely, and you didn’t realize it until you had someone else around. Give it a week, and if you still feel the same and you haven’t heard anything from Gerard, use the money you won and buy a dog. It’ll be the same as when Gerard was here, but you won’t have to worry about the cops._

“Order’s up for your table, Frank! How the fuck many times do I gotta say it!?” Frank snapped to attention as the cook shouted at him. “The hell’s your problem? Goddamn. You don’t come in to work yesterday, screw everything up today—you’re so fuckin’ slow,” he continued as Frank grabbed up the plates, trying hard to bite his tongue as he lined his arms with the hot dishes. “I bet if we weren’t so understaffed you’d be get shit-canned, man. They’d have you out on your ass in a heartbeat.”

Trying to deflect the words before his rage grew anymore, and trying to clear his face before returning to Gerard’s table in fear of sending the wrong message, Frank slid out from the kitchen and slowly made his way to Gerard’s table.

Gerard was watching him intently the entire time, making Frank nervous. He knew Gerard was just examining him, taking in every bit of him that he could because he knew the chances of seeing him again soon were limited, but he couldn’t help but feel like there was more meaning in that intense gaze. Regardless, Frank didn’t want Gerard’s father catching on to that. Even if the man was keeping himself composed in order to keep his family calm and to behave in public, it was still obvious to Frank that that man wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, he’d probably be pleased if Frank tripped with the plates and slit his throat open with one of the broken pieces when he fell.

_They think you hurt their son,_ a voice in Frank’s mind muttered as he started handing out the plates. He could practically see the judgment in the parents’ eyes, watching him as he leaned over the table to hand Gerard and Mikey their plates. 

What were they thinking of him, he wondered. Were they looking at his hands and wondering how many times they’d inflicted damage on their child? Were they looking at his mouth and wondering how many times he’d forced Gerard to kiss him when Gerard didn’t want to?

_You’re being paranoid,_ he told himself as he set the last plate down. Mrs. Way gave him a friendly smile and started unrolling her silverware. Gerard was still staring at him, not even taking the smallest of glances at his meal.

“Frank, you should stay here and talk to us,” Gerard said, making Frank’s skin turn cold. Acting as though what he’d proposed meant nothing to him at all, Gerard looked down at his plate and took his silverware out of the paper napkin it had been rolled into. “When do you go on break?”

“Gerard, that’s not a good idea,” Frank managed to say, wishing his had his notepad to scribble on so he wouldn’t have to face Gerard’s desperate look or Mr. Way’s approving glance. 

“Why?” Gerard asked, no tone, no indication that his emotions were involved at all even though it was obvious that they were. Mikey glanced at him and then at Frank blankly. He wished they’d quit looking at him. 

“Gerard, I’m working—I already had break.” Gerard looked disappointed and lowered his head like a dog that had been scolded. Frank felt bad for him, but didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t a thing he could suggest to make it better—it wasn’t like he could say ‘hey, I’ve gotta work now, but I’ll call you later and see if you’ve got time to hang out when I have off’ like he would with any other friend. 

“Frank!” it was a harsh call from the door to the kitchens. Frank whipped around to catch the cook throwing his arms up as if to cry “What the fuck, man? You’re needed back here!” but Frank’s name was all he said before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Uh, I gotta go, but I’ll check on you all in a bit to see if you need anything else.” Frank didn’t stay to see the looks that the family gave him, the irritable glint that shone in Gerard’s eyes was enough for him. 

“The fuck is your problem?” The cook immediately started when Frank came back into the kitchen and grabbed the plates for the family of three at the table that was actually in his section. “It’s the fucking lunch hour, man! You don’t have time to stand out there dick off. We need you back here!”

“I know,” Frank called, balancing the plates and leaving the kitchen as fast as he could to avoid another onslaught of insults and complaints. He served the table, got a refill of soda for the ten-year-old girl, and returned to the kitchen to bring out the next order to an elderly couple who had something to say about everything they ordered before they’d even taken a bite. The wife was polite about it, and Frank understood her—the meat was undercooked and she got sick easily, you could tell it was undercooked the inside was very pink when she cut it open—the husband, however, was just an ass.

“That’s burnt—do you see it? That’s burnt, I’m not paying for that.”

“I’ll have them make you another. I’m sorry, I didn’t see it when I was back there—”

“Then you weren’t looking! I don’t want to sit around here waiting for you to make another—it’ll take another thirty minutes!”

“I’m sorry, it should only take about ten minutes to make you another—”

“Bullshit—and you’d better just make me a-whole-nother meal, because by the time that gets done, the rest of my food will be cold!” Frank stood there and let himself get bitched at for at least another minute and a half before he was finally allowed to take the two plates away from the table. As he turned to go back into the kitchen, he spotted Gerard across the diner, watching him. 

The intense gaze made him shiver, but he didn’t have time to stand around and let Gerard see. He rushed back into the kitchen and tossed the plates into one of the gray bins by the trashcans.

“The fuck?” The cook asked, looking at the plates.

“Overcooked and undercooked—table five.”

“Goddamnit,” the cook hissed under his breath, finishing the plate he was on so Frank could take it and those that belonged with it to the correct table before starting to remake the other couple’s meals.

“Could we get more napkins?” The woman at that table asked. “There _aren’t_ enough napkins here—could you get us some more.” Frank told her he would, immediately did as she requested, came back, was told that she’d ordered a Sprite, not a Coke to drink earlier, but didn’t complain before but wanted the Sprite now… He took her empty cup, tossed it into the gray bin by the soda machine and filled her cup with ice and the Sprite that she did _not_ fucking order the first time and took it back to her with a smile and a small apology for getting her order ‘wrong’.

Again, as he returned to the kitchen, he caught Gerard watching him—eating very slowly and tilting his head when he caught Frank watching him in return. Frank wondered if he’d go back in the kitchen, grab an armful of plates, turn around to take it to a table and find Gerard standing there, having appeared from nowhere like he used to in the apartment.

“What’s the deal with the family you’ve got in my section?” A waitress asked as business slowed for a minute. “Friends from school or something?”

“I’d ask the same fuckin’ thing,” the cook hissed, scraping grease off of a skillet irritably. 

“No,” Frank answered. “Well, friends yes, but not from…not from school.”

“That one watches you,” the waitress said, pursing her lips into a strange smile. “I think he likes _you_.”

“Hook up on your own time, Frank. This isn’t a matchmaking club,” the cook hissed.

“We got an order coming in?” Frank asked cheekily.

“Nah,” the cook responded.

“Then back off for a minute,” Frank hissed back, ignoring the waitress’s raised eyebrows. 

“So, what’s the story with them?” The waitress asked.

“What story?” Frank snapped back. “I don’t interrogate you every time someone you know comes in. I know the people, okay? Does it matter?”

“You’re in such a bad mood today,” the waitress chided, her tone light indicating that she didn’t take the argument personally when Frank wished she would have.

( ) ( ) ( )

The awkwardness of the situation set in even more deeply when they all had their plates in front of them. No one really knew what to say to anyone else. It was obvious that everyone had questions, including Gerard who kept stealing glances of Frank whenever he would leave the confines of the kitchen, but no one felt safe asking and hardly anyone really wanted to hear the answers.

“Gerard,” their father said, breaking the silence and setting everyone on edge. “You, uh, you don’t like your room?” Gerard glanced at Mikey and then back at his dad, not sure how to answer that.

“I…um.” Gerard hummed, looking at his plate as if it would tell him the answer. “Hm.”

“We could have you trade rooms with Mikey if you don’t like it down there…” Mikey made a sound, a very short, very quiet, grunt that seemed to say ‘no fucking way are you shoving me down there.’

“I just don’t…want to be…on my own?” It came out as a question, and fragmented as if Gerard were reading it off of cue-cards. His mother clicked her tongue and shook her head, gazing at her plate and her chopped up food. “Um…” Gerard thought of a different way to say it, not wanting Mikey in his bedroom with the cocaine either. He hadn’t thought of it before when he’d considered asking Mikey for help with it—what if Mikey did drugs as well now? He didn’t want to enable it… “I…I haven’t really slept alone in…in a long time,” Gerard said, glancing at his mother to make sure she was okay. “Um…it’s just weird for me? I guess…to sleep alone? I’m used to someone being there.” He nodded, pleased with his own wording and ability to keep from mentioning masters or whores directly. “Actually,” he said as the thought came to him, before he could even think to censor himself or consider his words. “I’m not used to being alone at all—like, a-at any time. With the last guy I stayed with, you know—before Frank—there were, uh, there were three of us.” Gerard caught the worried look his mother was giving him and the cautious one from his father. He caught himself then, but he realized it was too late. He’d already started the topic, he may as well finish the statement. “I mean, one was—was always out of the way because, well, I didn’t really get along with him, but, um, but there was always—er—Joshua. He was…ugh.” Gerard groaned in disgust at the mere memory of the wretch. “ _He was always around._ ” 

“You…didn’t get along with one of them?” His mother stated. Her tone was strange—nervous because she was asking about a difficult subject, but casual as she tried to pretend she was just asking about old acquaintances Gerard might have met on a trip overseas or something.

“He was _mean_ , you know?” Gerard said, curling his lip as he recalled his second master’s other whore. That one spent most of his time kept in the spare bedroom—the whores’ bedroom—only allowed out, really, when he needed the restroom or food…or if Master decided he wanted his company instead of Joshua’s or Gerard’s. “We got in a fight once—I can’t even remember what it was over—before…before _he_ came home from work. I don’t remember much about it because I got my head put through a cabinet door—” He heard his mother gasp in surprise, but ignored it, lost in his memory. “—but I was knocked out and when I woke up I had a split lip and Master blamed me for it, but I really think Adam started it… I think he wanted me out of the way.”

“You say that like it’s a fond memory,” his father said suddenly. Gerard looked up at him, a little confused by his dad’s almost bitter tone. 

“Well, it is kind of,” Gerard said in his own defense. “Because the next day, I put his head through the bathroom mirror.” He glanced at Mikey who was shaking his head subtly. Maybe, Gerard realized, this wasn’t the best thing to be talking about. “That was, um, the last time we were left alone together when _he_ wasn’t home.” Gerard looked at his plate and cleared his throat. “Well, we weren’t really _alone_ , alone at that time. Joshua was there, but he wasn’t about to get involved.”

“And none of you…tried to leave?” His mother said cautiously, picking at her food with her fork. Gerard looked down at his plate as well and felt a little guilty. There had been many chances to escape, but the thought never came to him. He knew better than to think of doing those things.

“Newer, um…newer—uh—” Gerard struggled to find a word that wasn’t whore or slave to describe what they were. “Newer…ones of us,” he settled on, “might try to, but older ones of us…know better than to think about it. I mean, we were all with tr-trainers before,” he choked out, not wanting to think of that man while he was eating. “They make sure you won’t try before they even sell you.” Gerard sighed and filled his mouth with as much food as he could to avoid speaking for a moment. No one said anything after that, and he was determined not to let the conversation end on that note. “Joshua was a little different, though,” he said after swallowing. “He was born into this trade—his parents, I guess, sold him when he was a baby so running away wasn’t something that would ever even cross his mind. That’s why, I think, he was always so…so much better than me.”

“It’s sad to think that people would actually do that,” his mother said suddenly. “Sell your child into this—what’s wrong with people?”

“Drugs,” Gerard and his father answered in unison. It made Gerard laugh, but only slightly, and he looked back at his nearly empty plate. His mother hummed irritably and then Frank reappeared.

“Everything okay at this table?” Frank asked, sounding drained. Gerard looked at him and took in the stress on his face and sighed.

“Fine,” his father answered, and Frank left again without saying anything else. 

“He’s working, Gerard,” Mikey said softly, regaining Gerard’s attention from Frank’s retreating form. “You can hear them all yelling at him back there,” he added, nodding his head towards the kitchen. “You’re not really supposed talk to your friends when you’re at work.”

“What are they yelling?” Gerard asked, turning to look at the kitchen entrance and thinking about how ungrateful these people were after Frank worked so hard for them—sacrificing every scrap of strength and energy he’d had—so recently.

“You shouldn’t tell him things like that, Mikey,” their father hissed. “You don’t know that they’re yelling at him.”

“I have really good hearing,” Mikey mumbled, as if making a suggestion. 

“I can’t see how,” the older man grumbled. “You play that damned music so loud.” They continued to bicker back and forth, but Gerard focused more on the kitchen, hearing nothing but pans banging and an occasion ‘order up’ and an obscure table number. Then there was more crashing of dishes in a sink, presumably, more voices he couldn’t understand—he definitely heard someone say Frank’s name, but not in anger…

Shame. He wanted an excuse to go back there…to see Frank without his family in the way. With them here, it was just awkward. He couldn’t pull as many tricks with them watching, honestly, and he couldn’t show too much of his real self—the self that Frank already knew—without them deciding that it might be best to send him away for ‘professional care.’

Two more times he saw Frank take plates to booths on the other side of the diner, and both times Frank refused to look back at him. It was upsetting, and Gerard began to wonder once more if Frank really wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe Frank wasn’t his friend at all, and maybe all of that “sweetheart”, “honey”, “baby” talk never meant _anything_.

The thought was hurtful.

“Mom,” Gerard said quietly, nudging his mother who had finished eating but stared at her plate absently. She looked at him with worry and he sighed. “I need out… I need to use the bathroom.” His mother didn’t say anything, but nodded and slid out of the booth so he could get up.

“Do you need help finding it, Honey?” his mother asked, looking at him doubtfully. He shook his head and turned his eyes towards a small sign hanging from the ceiling that had the telltale silhouette Man and Woman on it with an arrow pointing towards the other side of the diner. His mother reclaimed her seat and his family watched him as he slunk away towards the other side of the diner—Frank’s serving section—and felt nervous with their eyes burning holes into his back.

Immediately after he reached the other side of the diner, he spotted the bathroom doors and slid towards them, just beyond the door to the kitchen that read “employees only”. He intended to wait outside of that door for Frank, no matter how long it took. And if a member of his family—probably his dad but possibly Mikey—came searching for him, he’d tell them like it was: He came to see Frank, and he was going to. No one was going to stop him.

So he waited by the door to the kitchen, not giving the customers who stared at him any attention, until it finally swung open and Frank finally reappeared, carrying two armfuls of perfectly balanced plates that he took to a table of six. He conversed with the diners lightly, and then turned to come back to the kitchen, making Gerard curious when he paled just at the sight of him. 

“G-Gerard, you need to go back to your table,” he said quietly as he approached. “I can’t talk to you right now. I’ve got—” Gerard silenced him by putting a finger against Frank’s lips, almost saddened by the nervous look Frank gave his hand—as if expecting to be hurt.

“I just want a minute,” Gerard said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

“I don’t have a minute,” Frank answered, pushing Gerard’s hand away. “I’m _sorry_ , Gerard.” And Frank attempted to leave him like that—tried to turn his face away and rush back into the kitchen. Gerard grabbed his wrist, though, and pulled him back. “Gerard!” Frank cried out, trying to pull his hand away and glancing nervously around at the customers who were watching them out of the corners of their eyes. 

“Frank,” Gerard started, trying to remember what he’d wanted to tell him through his haze of doubt and elation—pleased just to be touching Frank’s skin again.

“Gerard, _please!_ ” Frank cried, wrenching his wrist free of Gerard’s grip. “I’m in trouble today, I can’t waste time—”

“Frank, I just wanted to see you,” Gerard managed to say, desperate to keep Frank with him even though the man was trying to push past him to get back into the kitchen. “I really missed you and it’s strange being with them.”

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m _sorry_ ,” Frank pleaded, glancing at the kitchen door and back at Gerard. “But there’s nothing I can do!”

“But, Frank—”

“Frank! I can see you outside that fuckin’ door, man.” Someone in the kitchen shouted, loud enough to be heard by someone standing against the door, but not loud enough for the diners to overhear. Gerard glared at the door, wishing the man who had shouted would take two steps out of the kitchen so he could hit him… He didn’t like shouting, he didn’t like being interrupted, and it still pissed him off when someone raised their voice to his master…

“Gerard…just go to your table. I’ll be over in a minute to bring the bill and we can talk then—maybe I can take a five minute break, I don’t know—just please, let me go.” Frank tried to leave into the kitchen again, not waiting for an answer. Gerard snagged his wrist once more, despite Frank’s cry of alarm and distress, and pulled him back.

“Frank, please, I just need to know something—and I don’t want to ask around Mom and Dad.” Frank quit pulling to get away and stood still, his shoulders shaking as he took in a deep breath.

“Frank!” The call from the kitchen was louder this time.

“What, Gerard? Please…what?” Gerard didn’t like the agony in Frank’s voice, afraid that he caused it. He didn’t want Frank to hurt, he wanted him close, and to want to be close to him.

“Frank, since yesterday you’ve been—”

“I haven’t been around you since yesterday!” Frank cried out. Gerard was about to respond, but another cry from the kitchen cut him off and Frank growled. He pushed open the door and seized Gerard’s wrist before pulling him inside.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Frank, what the fuck!?” Frank ignored the cook’s shouts as he drug Gerard into the kitchen to get the customers’ stares off of them and so he could work this mess out in private as quickly as he fucking could. He noticed Gerard giving the man a glare over his shoulder, but ignored it for the time being. He didn’t have the time to tell Gerard not to be defensive. “Frank, he can’t be back here—the manager’s gonna be back any second!” Frank had to make up his mind, back door or freezer. When he passed the freezer and saw two of his other coworkers gossiping inside he settled on the back patio. “Oh, shit, man! Where the—” but the last of the cook’s shouts were cut off when the back door closed behind them. 

“Gerard, I’m at work, I can’t do this here!” Frank shouted, unable to control himself even though he knew Gerard deserved better than to be yelled at. “I’m sorry—but with your parents _right there_ , Gerard, right there _hating_ me, I can’t do anything!” Gerard was looking at him with fear, flinching nervously every now and again as if expecting to be struck. Frank hated seeing him like that, but he’d lost control of himself…and maybe it was even for the best—maybe if he shouted it would leave Gerard terrified of him and he wouldn’t want to come around him anymore. 

But the truth was, he didn’t want Gerard afraid of him. He didn’t want to rob Gerard of his ally, steal the first and only friend he had that he wasn’t bound to by blood. Yes, in a few short days, he had to confess, he’d started to love this poor, destroyed man. He didn’t yet know if that love was just a sort of protective instinct (since Gerard had come to him so badly wounded and he’d emotionally nursed him back to health) or something more—it was hard not to get intimately attached to someone who’d done to him what Gerard had after that long day at work—but it wasn’t a feeling he could just profess to the world. 

God, what would the parents think if he cantered back to them and blurted out “I think I love your son”? They’d murder him… If he loved Gerard, well to them that meant he’d raped him or done something else equally terrible—brainwashed him into loving him back, even though he’d won Gerard’s affection himself. They’d be idiots if they didn’t believe he forced Gerard to suck him off that night if he told them how he felt about their son.

“Frank, don’t—” Frank cut Gerard off, even though seeing the hurt in Gerard’s eyes was killing him.

“I’m sorry I can’t grab you and hug you and beg to hear everything that’s happened so I know you’re okay, but I can’t! Alright? I wish I could but I really, really can’t with them out there!” Gerard whimpered and tears welled up in his eyes that Frank couldn’t look at.

_Well,_ he thought, _by this point, I’m probably already fired._ So he decided to force himself to relax and pretend he didn’t have a job that needed done, and that there wasn’t a family sitting at a table wishing horrible things on him for obviously stealing their son away again… 

“Sorry,” he said quietly, looking down at the pavement. “Gerard, I just…they’ve got me all stressed out.” Gerard didn’t say anything, just stood there. Frank looked up and met Gerard’s gaze. Gerard was hurt. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Still, Gerard remained quiet. “What did you want to say?” As expected, he didn’t answer. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset—it wasn’t about you. I wasn’t mad at you.”

“You _are_ mad at me, though,” Gerard mumbled. Frank sighed and looked at the door that would lead him back into the kitchen where he’d undoubtedly be told that the diner was no longer in need of his help. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Frank mumbled back, looking Gerard in the eye and sighing. “But, please, tell me what you needed to say.”

“I wanted to know if you still like me, if you _ever_ liked me—but I can tell that you don’t so I should just go inside…” Gerard looked at the door almost longingly, but didn’t move towards it.

“Gerard, you know I love you,” Frank said, letting the words come and letting them catch Gerard off guard. It was good to see that surprise on Gerard’s face, that little gleam of pleasure and joy. “So don’t worry. Even if I ignore you when I’m trying to care about what’s wrong with the food on people’s plates, I still want to see you.” Gerard looked at him, as if searching him for hints of deception, and started to look sad again. “Are you feeling okay?” Gerard lowered his gaze to the cement and sighed.

“I don’t know how to talk to them…” Gerard mumbled. “I want to tell them things, you know? About…about my masters and the others, but it just makes them upset so I can’t. I can talk to you about those things…”

“That’s because you’re not my son—it hurts me to hear those things, but not as much as it would if I were a parent and something like that had happened to my kid…”

“I understand that,” Gerard mumbled back. “But I want to talk, and I can’t. I blurt things out and Mom cries, Dad gets pissed off at me…Mikey’s the only one who doesn’t freak out—and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Give them time,” Frank said in the softest voice he could manage. “They need a little bit of time before they’ll be able to handle it.” Gerard looked wounded.

“But Mikey—”

“Mikey’s different about this,” Frank stated, trying to do anything to get that desperation out of Gerard’s eyes. “Mikey knew you were alive—he believed that you were so he’d already thought of everything that could have happened to you. He was almost _prepared_ for this. Your parents thought you were dead—they didn’t want to think of what could have happened. The thoughts would have driven them insane. Gerard, you don’t seem to notice it, but you’ve been through Hell—what you’ve been put through is one of the worst things a person can imagine. It kills your mom and dad to think of how much you were suffering—”

“But I wasn’t!” Gerard argued, eyes widening. “I keep telling them that I wasn’t in pain—I wasn’t hurt when I was with my master!”

“Sweetheart,” Frank said, sighing heavily and glancing at the sky—almost cursing it for being blue on such a terrible day. “You know that’s not true.” Gerard bit into his lower lip and looked away quickly. “Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the man who kidnapped you, but he still hurt you…”Gerard lowered his head and then looked at Frank sadly. “Come here—give me a hug before I have to send you back inside so your dad doesn’t come and wring my neck.” Frank extended him arms, leaving it up to Gerard to make the first move. He did, wrapping his arms around Frank almost instantly and squeezing too tightly for Frank to be able to breathe. 

“Frank, I need your help with something,” Gerard whimpered as he loosened his grip but still not breaking the hug. Frank was terrified of what Gerard was going to suggest.

“What do you need?” Frank asked nervously, swallowing hard and breathing deeply. 

“There’s something in my room, and I can’t go in there until it’s gone… I can’t tell Mom and Dad about it, and I don’t want to get Mikey involved. I trust you.”

“I can’t just go in your house, Gerard,” Frank argued, pulling away gently and looking Gerard in the eye. The man looked let down. “You know that. It’ll take time for your parents to start to trust me enough to let that happen.”

“I really need to get rid of it,” Gerard stated insistently.

“Well, what is it?” Frank asked, having no ideas. Gerard looked away from him and the back door was pushed open. In his surprise, Gerard latched on to the thing closest to him—Frank—and stared at the doorway in shock for a moment before he registered that it was just Mikey and the cook.

“Frank, my dad told me to tell you that if you don’t bring his ‘fucking’ son back, he’s going to ‘kick your ass’…” His tone was that of a person reading a report off of note cards. “But I can see you’re making out, so I’ll tell him he’s going to have to wait a minute.”

“Don’t tell him that!” Gerard cried out, serious enough that it made Mikey jump.

“I was kidding—I’m not going back there without you, he’d kill me. Mom’s holding him back with a fork and bread knife as it is.” Gerard tightened his hold on Frank. 

“Is he…going to hit me?” Mikey glanced at Frank who sighed and tried rubbing Gerard’s shoulder to calm him without results. 

“No,” Mikey answered, confused. “But Frank’s about to get hit by the other waiters if you don’t let him get back to work.” Frank didn’t think Mikey realized what he’d said. He looked surprised when Gerard passed a dark scowl to the cook that had arrived with Mikey.

“Gerard, he’s just joking,” Frank said quickly, squirming in Gerard’s arms until the man let him go. Gerard’s eyes were still locked on the cook who was starting to look paranoid. 

“Gee?” Mikey said, noticing as the intensity of the glare increased. “Come on, quit looking at him like that.”

“Fine,” Gerard hissed, turning to look at Frank instead and lightening his expression. “I’ll see you later, Frank—remember to come help me with that thing we talked about.” Frank opened his mouth to ask what thing, to remind Gerard that he’d never told him what the thing was, but the instant he started to speak Gerard pushed their mouths together and kissed him deeply—despite Frank’s muffled scream of protest. Gerard invaded his mouth instantly, running his tongue along Frank’s and then sucking on Frank’s bottom lip when the younger man made no motions to kiss back or move his tongue.

Gerard shoved Frank backwards when he was finished with him and slipped between Mikey and the cook without another glance in his direction. 

“What’s he talking about, Frank?” Mikey asked assertively, watching Gerard leave but remaining in the doorway.

“God, I wish I fucking knew,” Frank groaned, still recovering from the shock of being kissed and then nearly pushed down. Mikey hummed and turned to leave. 

“See you around, Frank,” he said in departure, as if nothing in the world was amiss. Frank wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and sighed, wondering what that kiss meant and afraid to find out.


	12. Nothing to Say

In the two weeks since Gerard had been returned, Mikey felt confident in saying that he knew approximately eighty-percent of Gerard’s weapons—the little things he would do to ensure that a) he got his way, and b) whoever upset him would pay for it. While their parents were content to cover their eyes and plug their ears and say “God, it’s great to have him home!”, Mikey remained observant, quiet…distant without being out of reach—Gerard would go to him for comfort before he would their parents, and Mikey wasn’t cruel enough to ignore him for the sake of his study.

In his mind, since it would be dangerous to leave it on paper, Mikey created a list of Gerard’s antics—his punishments, his _weapons_.

If someone upset him just a little—say something he didn’t like, for example, something that made him _angry_ —he would give the offender the silent treatment for a while and occasionally top it off with nasty looks. However, if one of them said something that hurt his feelings or made him sad, he wouldn’t hesitate to force tears or find some other way to incite a guilt trip. 

Mikey did notice, too, that if one of their parents said something that stirred a bad memory in Gerard’s head and he wasn’t able to hide the fact that it had wounded him, he’d become uncharacteristically frantic. He’d do anything to deviate from the topic—scream, argue even though no one would really argue back, leave the room and slam the door behind him, or even make desperate attempts to leave the house if the thing he remembered was bad enough. 

On Gerard’s fourth night in the house, Mikey distinctly remembered (and felt he probably would remember for the rest of his life), Gerard’s silent treatment led to an argument—which led to possibly forced, quite possibly real, tears—and then led to Gerard literally fighting to get to the front door as their father held him back.

Of course, their father had been the instigator of the whole mess and Mikey felt that the man really should’ve known better than to start with Gerard about the way he looked _of all fucking things_ …especially so soon after getting him home. So, what started as a suggestion—actually, more of a command that Gerard fought hard to politely refuse as he struggled to decide whether he _had_ to obey or not—to cut his hair a little shorter, formed bitter feelings as Gerard decided he was being personally attacked. (Thus, the silent treatment.) By that time, their father had lost his patience and just _had_ to spit out that the only reason Gerard refused to cut his hair was because he was still trying to please the man who’d owned him all those years by keeping his appearance the same. The statement was probably true, but it was uncalled for all the same. (Mikey couldn’t tell if the tears that had followed were real or not, since they started so weak before turning into heavy sobs.) Whether or not the tears were legitimate, Gerard wasn’t faking it when the pain clouded his eyes.

“All over a man who raped you…” Those had been the words that set Gerard off. Mikey couldn’t even understand why their dad couldn’t keep from saying them—what possessed someone to say something so awful to someone already in tears?

For a moment, Gerard had looked like he’d had something to say back to that—“you can’t rape what you own,” Gerard later explained to him—but he decided to hold the words back. Hundreds of thoughts could be seen flashing in his eyes at that moment—all of them terrorized and painful. He stayed in his seat for no more than twenty seconds before standing up quickly and turning his head back and forth as he presumably tried to figure out where to go to hide. Upstairs? Downstairs? He decided to go outside.

The instant Gerard started in the direction of the front door, though, their father got up from his seat and grabbed him by his wrist to keep him back. By that point, Gerard was gone, lost in a fit of loud sobs and bad memories. He kept trying to pull his wrist free, but when it didn’t work he just continued trying to reach the door, dragging his father a couple of inches before the man grabbed his other arm as well. 

It all turned into a mess after that—Gerard started thrashing and screaming out desperate phrases that all began with ‘master,’ and his father kept trying to hold him still and keep him from reaching the door. Somehow, Gerard ended up toppling both of them over, his frantically shouted words turning into one loud wail of pain as his face hit the floor and his father fell on top of him.

Unbelievably enough, it went downhill from there even faster. The cry of pain and shock from meeting the floor face-first turned into inconsolable sobs, and Gerard’s will to fight disappeared. Their father wasted no time getting off of him and seemed prepared to grab him again if he attempted to make any motions towards the door, but once he was out of the way Gerard only rolled onto his side and curled into a violently trembling ball. 

And somehow it got worse. Without any additional words or physical contact, Gerard’s shaking got harder and sobs turned into choking and excessively heavy breaths that could ultimately lead to only one thing—blacking out.

Gerard fainted, but to Mikey it was like he’d just seen his brother die. One moment he was moving and making sound, and then next he was silent and completely still. He wanted to go to Gerard then, to fall down beside him and shake him and make sure he was still breathing, but he couldn’t even bear to look at him.

In conclusion, Mikey decided, while trying his best not to think about it, some of Gerard’s best weapons were the ones he had no control over. Unfortunately, those weapons hurt him, too.

But aside from silent treatments and crying and built-in defenses, there were other things that Gerard could do to make those around him suffer. 

Temper tantrums—the man was moody as _fuck_ , insults that would get right under their dad’s skin and fester for a while, short monologues about ‘life at home’ and the time he’d spent with the second man who’d held him hostage…mini-panic attacks, threats to do practically anything—harm himself, harm his _therapist_ , run away and find Frank…In a way, he reminded Mikey of a really spoiled ten-year-old.

Still, despite the unmistakable vindictiveness that rested in his soul, Gerard has this peaceful innocence that radiated off of him the majority of the time. Granted, most of that innocence was faked, but the times when it was real were capable of putting little stitches in the gaping wound that his absence had left in the family’s heart.

A random hug out of nowhere—stitch. A miniscule smile—stitch. Lying his head in your lap when you’re sitting on the couch—a little misguided, but still a stitch in the wound. Having your bed be the one he decided to sleep in when the nightmares got to be too much, stitch. Waking up to find a sketch of yourself lying on the bed beside you—stitch, stitch. 

The only time those stitches got ripped out was after Gerard underwent the physical exam he’d agreed to in return for being allowed to see Frank. He admitted that it wasn’t the invasiveness of it that pissed him off—he was just a little bit unhappy when the doctor found out that his left arm had been broken once and left to heal on its own—fortunately well enough that he didn’t need any surgeries to re-break it and fix it.

As to how the bone had been broken…Mikey felt you’d have a better chance of getting Gerard to shoot Frank in the face than get him to tell you. And when their mother kept asking, really wanting to know if it was an accident or if someone did it to him on purpose, Gerard snapped at her. She’d cried and Gerard must’ve felt bad about it afterwards because he followed her around the house for two days—barely letting her leave his sight long enough to use the bathroom.

She wasn’t the only one to be stalked…Mikey didn’t know how many times he’d leave one room and turn around to go back and find his older brother standing mere _inches_ behind him. At first he’d thought it was some kind of joke—an attempt to startle him—but the more it happened and the more he noticed that Gerard showed no reaction to the surprised looks he got, Mikey was led to believe that it was normal—scary as hell, but completely normal behavior for Gerard.

The therapist said it had something to do with a desire to be close but not necessarily seen right away. Their father seemed to interpret that as “he wants to do something to you while your back is turned.” The therapist didn’t seem to know how to combat that response. She’d only met with Gerard twice by that point…

Today was their fourth appointment. 

( ) ( ) ( )

If he didn’t think it would cripple his chances of being allowed to see Frank again without having to beg or employ other less acceptable means, he would’ve told the elderly woman to fuck off and mind her own business. 

But he wanted to see Frank again and he knew that his “behavior around the house” wasn’t exactly what one would call acceptable…he shuddered at the memory of his fourth night home—a flurry of hurt feelings, terrorizing memories, and misdirected emotions that landed him on the floor with a bloody nose. (There wasn’t much for him to go on after that—his memory ended with the scent of blood—but he knew that when he woke up he was still lying on the floor with his parents now sitting beside him while Mikey stood with his back to them, his shoulders rigid and posture unapproachable.)

Maybe at home he was bad, the very worst a person could ever be, but wasn’t there still a chance that if he did everything he was supposed to when he was out in public or with the doctors, he would be permitted to invite Frank over to the house?

And then Frank could get the fucking cocaine out of his bedroom so he could go back down there without feeling like he was going to pass out from the nerves…

As it was, Gerard sat in his therapist’s office, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to lie on the couch that was available in order to soothe his tired muscles or if he’d rather sit so he wouldn’t look like that typical psych-patient, waiting for the woman to get off of the phone so their session could actually begin. (It was an “important” call, so he had to be “patient”.)

“I’m sorry about that, Gerard,” she began, right after she hung up the phone. Gerard glanced at her, not really prepared to spend the next hour and a half pouring out little pieces of his soul to the stranger named Dr. Caroza, and made a soft, acknowledging sound. 

She started with their typical chatter, “has anything interesting happened at home?” and “is there anything you think you need to tell me before we can start to discuss what we left off on last time?”, and Gerard played along. Nothing interesting at home, nothing hindered him from speaking about his past…his _real_ past—the one before he’d been kidnapped.

If his memory served him properly, they’d left off on drugs. How convenient…he knew where that was going to lead. ‘—and then you went to his apartment? Uh hu…and then you say you were taken?’

“Gerard, to me you seem reluctant to speak on this topic. Is there a reason that—”

“I just think it’s pointless. I know why I did drugs, and it’s hard for me to talk about specific reasons because I really don’t remember so well. That was a long time ago. I was a kid, I was bored—I was depressed…I knew where to get it and I had the money.”

“I know you think it’s pointless to talk about this, but can I ask one more question on the subject?” Gerard shrugged in response to her. This woman was so passive…she reminded him of the other whores. Neither of them was really capable of making the other do anything. She couldn’t make him answer, and he couldn’t make her drop the subject. “You mentioned before that the second man you were with forced you to break your addiction.” He nodded and looked at her anxiously, not sure where this was going to lead. “Did you feel relieved after that? Was it something you were glad that you overcame, or did you think it was something unnecessary that he made you do?” Gerard blinked a few times, trying to analyze her question but having no idea as to what she was getting at.

“Well, at first I was mad about it—I was addicted, I _needed_ it—but once I got over that I was really happy. I felt like I was in control again…I mean, in control of _something_. I could think straight…and of course it was necessary. I’m actually…I’m actually really thankful that he did that for me. Drugs were the only thing keeping me going when I was with my—er—with…with the first man. They kept me sane, I guess…if…if that’s what I am—if I _am_ sane. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, Gerard?” Gerard wished he hadn’t spoken. He stared at the rug on the floor and tried to decide if there was a way out of what he’d said. There wasn’t… “Don’t close yourself off from me. Why do you question whether or not you’re sane?” The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Sane? He was sane. He didn’t think he was God or that he could teleport flies or…or other weird, impossible things. He knew up from down and—for the most part—right from wrong. He really wished he hadn’t spoken. “Is it the flashbacks?” Dr. Caroza suggested. Gerard grimaced. 

“Not…not really,” he mumbled, suddenly taking those into account. Hadn’t he ended up here because of one of those nightmares? He’d been lying in bed with Frank, as happy as was possible for him at the time, and he’d dreamt of his trainer which made him wake up in terror—feeling pain that had long since left him and afraid that his trainer was in the apartment when that wasn’t possible. And what was worse than those flashbacks and terrors? How he’d raped Frank? 

_Or how about the time, Gerard, that you made that boy kill himself so you could get him out of your way?_

“What are you thinking about, Gerard?” Dr. Caroza asked suddenly. She must’ve picked up on his tension the way that Mikey always did.

“The things I’ve done?” Gerard answered, plotting out a more detailed response to follow it up.

“Things that you think are bad?” She was just as much at a loss as he was in his quest for an answer.

“Maybe…I don’t know.”

“Well, tell me about it—let’s discuss it.” Gerard passed her a slightly displeased glance and then returned his eyes to the rug. It was so easy for her to sit there in her ignorance and want to discuss what he was thinking when all he had on his mind was a sixteen-year-old boy he’d talked into committing suicide in their master’s kitchen. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that…that I answer all of your questions as best as I can, and that we’ve met four times now, and it’s been over a week and half…so I should be allowed to see Frank again if I ask.” He tried to force a bit of innocence into his tone, but none came. His therapist didn’t appreciate him changing the topic, he could tell by the creases that appeared in her brow. 

“Gerard, how can I be expected to help you when you won’t open up to me? You do this every time I ask you a question you don’t like—you start talking about Frank.”

“He’s my security blanket,” Gerard spat out, remembering something he’d heard on television. “I feel safe when I think about him.” They went back and forth for a while, discussing Frank and why Gerard was as close to him as he was—Gerard not forgetting to insist that it wasn’t just because Frank had been a master (albeit a very poor excuse for one)—but the therapist changed the topic herself after a while when she realized she wasn’t going anywhere but in circles. Gerard was pleased to have distracted her for twenty-eight minutes.

“This is off the subject, Gerard, but your father told me that you show a reluctance to go into your room—” Shit. That was the only word that came to Gerard’s mind, and he knew she’d caught it as his shock flickered across his face. “—and he’s really curious about why. He says that he’s offered for you and your brother to trade rooms, but you—”

“Said no. Mikey shouldn’t have to give up his room—it’s not fair. I don’t go in my room because it’s so far away from everyone else…I…I just don’t like to be far away.” She knew he was lying.

“You really don’t want to let me in at all today, do you?” She said suddenly, leaning back in her seat and setting her notebook aside. “Usually you’ll let me see something, but today you’re just…closed.” Gerard sighed and glanced at the clock. There were still thirty minutes left to go. “Is there something you want to talk about? It really seems like something is bothering you, but you won’t let me know what it is.” That was the oldest trick in the book. Is there something you want to tell me? Well, now that you mention it…

Gerard guessed that he could please her and cave a little… Maybe she’d tell his parents he was good dog and they’d give him a treat—let him see Frank. Or at least let him get Frank’s phone number and call him. He was starting to wonder if he’d lost Frank his job when he’d stolen him away at the diner…a quick phone call was all it would take for him to be able to figure it out.

“I really miss Frank, and I don’t see why Mom and Dad don’t want me to see him. I really don’t get it at all. They go to work during the day, and Mikey’s at school and _he_ works—I’m in the house by myself on days that I know Frank has off…” He felt stupid talking to this woman. She didn’t care about him, and if she did it was because someone was paying her to. He’d rather talk to Frank about these things, or Mikey—hell, he’d rather talk to his _dad_. This woman just saw him as a text book example of trauma…or an irritatingly difficult case. She probably went home and bitched to her husband about her awful six O’clock appointment.

Then again, maybe Frank thought of him as that awful creature he’d had in his apartment for a week that he just couldn’t chase off. And maybe Mikey saw him as the older brother who could do more for the family by lying at the bottom of a dumpster with his guts split open.

Mom and Dad probably felt the same.

Dr. Caroza started explaining his parents’ reasons to him, but he didn’t listen. He thought about how much better it was with his master…and then remembered that things hadn’t been going so well then either. His master had grown to resent him, that was why he replaced him and sold him. 

His master learned to hate him for the same reasons that everyone else did—he got too attached when it wasn’t appropriate, he was mean and the only thing he was good at was sex and ruining things. 

In the end it was all the same, it didn’t matter how much he’d started to care for his family—they didn’t want him, they were just putting up with him because they were obliged to take him back.

He just wanted to disappear… He wanted to go home, but he didn’t really have a home. There was no place for him to hide except for maybe underneath the false bottom of his desk drawer. After all, what did it matter if he got high? Maybe he’d find a dealer that would shoot him this time.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey had a bad feeling about Gerard after the appointment with his therapist ended early. He caught Gerard trying to escape the office when their parents went into the closed off little room for a “private reflection”, and convinced him that he didn’t need to go hide on the streets by promising to back him up if their parents tried to fight with him. 

Their father looked disappointed when he and their mother came back from their little discussion with the therapist, but neither of them said anything cross to him as they left the office and got back in the car. 

Something must have gone wrong during the session because the whole ride home Gerard leaned on the window and wouldn’t look at anyone. As soon as they got in the house, Gerard tried to go down to his bedroom, but Mikey stopped him.

There was just something in his guts that said not to let Gerard hide there. He didn’t know if it was because he had a suspicion that Gerard was forcing himself to go into his room because the therapist had said something to him about it, or if he had no reason at all...perhaps he was just grappling for an acceptable excuse to pull Gerard back out of the basement stairwell. 

He made Gerard sit with him on the couch while their parents talked in the kitchen—their mother making dinner and their father hovering around her—and noticed that Gerard looked relieved the very instant he sat down. 

“Something happen?” Mikey asked quietly. If their parents overheard him ‘pressuring Gerard into talking about things he’s not comfortable with’, he was bound to get told to stay out of the house for the night and come back the next morning.

“With the fucking shrink?” Gerard grumbled back, sounding bitter even though his face looked relatively calm.

“I don’t know.”

“She said I wasn’t opening up today…so maybe I’m in trouble with her. I don’t know.” Gerard looked at his hands which he had clasped in his lap and sighed. He looked a little bit ashamed.

“Why didn’t you open up?—she probably asked you something stupid.” Gerard perked up a little, probably happy to hear someone take his side and say he wasn’t to blame. 

Yeah, Mikey knew how to get Gerard talking.

“I don’t like talking to her,” Gerard mumbled. “Don’t tell Mom and Dad, but I just feel really stupid for having to.”

“I’m not telling them anything—they’ll say I made you say it or something.” Mikey forced out a small laugh and caught Gerard’s eyes. He couldn’t read them. “Explain to me—why does she make you feel stupid? She’s not treating you like a four-year-old is she? You know, with the little kid talk and the…the—where they pretend you can’t understand anything.”

“No,” Gerard answered, looking away and sighing. “It’s not that. I just…well, think about it, okay?” Gerard turned on the couch to face him and Mikey inclined his head to show that he was keeping an open mind. “You go in there and she asks you all these questions, and no matter what you say she keeps all calm and collected while you get nervous—she tells you not to be, but you can’t help it and you know it’s frustrating her… Then you realize she’s only listening to you because she’s getting paid to.” Gerard looked away quickly and stared at the carpet. “I find it hard to believe that she actually _cares_ about…about _anything_ I have to say.”

“I get it,” Mikey replied, keeping a gentle tone. “Yeah, that would make sense…I can see why you’d feel that way.” He shifted a little on his seat, folding one of his legs underneath himself as he turned to face Gerard a little better. “It was the same for me after you disappeared—teachers were always asking me about how I felt with these _corny_ frowns and this put-on ‘sympathy’ that made me sick—and then I had to talk to that douche-bag school counselor for four weeks during my lunch period, and the only reason Mom and Dad let me stop was because I told them straight up that I felt better after one minute of talking to my friends about it than I did in the whole time I spent with that guy. It _is_ different when they’re paid to listen to you—I mean, how could it not be? If you cry when you’re with a friend, your friend will cry too—if you cry in front of _them_ , they’ll jot it down on in a notebook and say you’ve made progress. Maybe it’s better for you to be fucking analyzed and poked at, but it feels a hell of a lot worse than being coddled.” Mikey chanced a nudge to Gerard’s shoulder, a reassuring pat to say ‘I know how you feel’ just in case the words weren’t enough.

“I’d rather talk to you about it than her,” Gerard mumbled. “But they’ll just say that I’m trying to avoid my problems…I don’t have any problems. None that she can fix anyway.”

“Anything I can fix?” Mikey asked, glancing away because he felt eighty percent sure that Frank was the one meant to help. He looked back at Gerard after a brief period of silence and caught the unsuppressed anxiety showing on his brother’s face. “What is it, Gee?” Quickly, Gerard shook his head, but Mikey wasn’t letting him get away with it. “No, don’t hide it from me—what’s wrong? I can tell something’s bothering you and I want to help. Let me help—tell me how to help.” Gerard looked back at him, nervous and sad. Mikey wished he knew Gerard well enough to guess what the problem was because Gerard looked afraid to say it. “You can trust me with this,” Mikey whispered. “I won’t let you down.” Gerard sighed heavily and chanced one last look at Mikey before turning his eyes back to the floor.

“It’s just…Mikey, I _worry_.”

“Worry?” Mikey repeated, trying to read Gerard when the man was doing his best to keep his expressions hidden. “About what?”

“You…kind of.” Mikey didn’t know if he trusted those words or not. He had a strange suspicion that Gerard was leading him off of the topic, lying to him to keep something else a secret.

“Me? How do you mean? Like…like when I’m not home you worry that—”

“No,” Gerard interjected, something about his forcefulness making Mikey begin to believe what he was being told. “Mikey…if I asked you something personal, would you—um—would you answer?” Gerard stammered, swallowing hard and passing him a nervous glance.

“I’d try to,” Mikey said back, glancing at the doorway to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Gerard seemed content with the answer, but still wary about speaking. “I won’t get mad or…or upset with you. Come on, Gee, you know you can trust me.” Gerard sighed again and stared at the floor as he spoke.

“Are…Um. Are you…” He stammered for a while, either deciding what to say or still afraid to ask. “You’re not…you’re not like—like me.” Gerard swallowed hard and Mikey was left confused and speechless. 

“I don’t—”

“You’re not…you’re not like I was,” Gerard rephrased. “Are you?” As he asked it, he shot Mikey an almost desperate look. 

“Like…like you were?” Mikey repeated, looking away and then back at him. “Gerard, I’m…I’m confused.” Gerard took in another deep breath and stared at his lap with a worried gaze.

“You’re not like I was, right? You don’t…when you’re out at night.” Gerard paused to swallow again. “You’re not…not getting high or…or—”

“No!” Mikey choked out, a little more ardently than he himself had been expecting. He was just taken by surprise. The last thing he expected to be asked—by Gerard at least—was if he was out doing drugs all night when he stayed away from home. “God, no—no. _No_.” Gerard looked at him half relieved and still half uncertain. “I might get drunk a night or two, but not…not often. And…and I always thought it would be an insult to you if I ever got…you know, _involved_ with drugs and things.” Gerard sighed, in relief this time no doubt. He passed Mikey a quick smile and then stared back down at his hands. 

“That’s a good thing,” he said suddenly, nodding slightly. “That’s a really good thing,” he repeated in a whisper.

“Mom and Dad…they don’t believe that though,” Mikey added, regaining Gerard’s attention. It wasn’t that he really wanted to put his own troubles on Gerard’s mind, but there was no way Gerard was going to let him in if he never exposed any of his own weakness and wounds. As sick as it was, he needed to give Gerard something to use against him in return if the two of them fell into an argument. Gerard would want to be able to inflict damage if his feelings were ever hurt. “We got in a really big fight about…maybe a little over a year ago and I just left. I was only gone two days, but when I got home they wasted no time accusing me of getting drunk and shooting up…I was so pissed off at them that I just agreed with whatever they said when what I really did those two nights was sit in my friend’s house and watch reruns and talk shows on the women’s entertainment channel because my friend wasn’t home but his mom said I could crash on their couch. I didn’t even eat or drink anything the whole time I was there.”

“You shouldn’t have let them say things like that,” Gerard muttered. “It’s mean.” Mikey shrugged, choosing to look at the floor instead of Gerard’s face, not wanting to know what expression was residing there. 

“Eh, we were all pissed off at each other. I knew what I’d been doing and…I don’t know if you remember, but that’s always been good enough for me.”

“I don’t…I don’t _care_ ,” Gerard said, his anger making Mikey look at him quickly in surprise. “I don’t want to hear them say that about you. When…when we were at the police station, it pissed me off so _bad_ the way they talked to you.” Mikey shushed him because his tone was getting close to yelling. 

“It’s okay, though. It doesn’t bother me—you don’t need to be upset.” Gerard sighed heavily—angrily—and stared at the floor. “Did you…talk to the therapist about that?”

“No. I talked to her about Frank and she got all bent out of shape because she wanted to talk about drugs and I…I really didn’t.” Gerard looked troubled again and Mikey was about to ask him about it but a shadow crossed the doorway, telling him that someone was lingering nearby. Gerard noticed too and subsequently quit talking all together.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Gerard, you and I will go out tomorrow to get you some new things,” his mother said at dinner. Gerard choked a little, but managed to not scream at the thought. 

“Can I just give you a list and stay here? The officers said that it’s not a good idea for me to go out too often because I might get seen by…you know. _Them_.” He wasn’t allowed to call ‘them’ masters anymore. The therapist said it was something to do with what she called changing his way of thinking so that he could return to a regular state of mind instead of a submissive—slave—mentality. 

“No, Gerard. It’ll be good for you to go out and get some fresh air. Besides, I want to make sure the clothes I buy are the right size. And wouldn’t you like to pick out your own things for your bedroom?” She looked at her plate as she spoke, avoiding her children’s stares and her husbands brief glances. 

“For my bedroom?” Gerard repeated, swallowing hard because he knew that there was no talking her out of this.

“Well…I was thinking that you’d like some new things—new furniture or…or decorations.” He could tell immediately that his mother was repeating something she’d been told by Dr. Caroza. She knew he was aware of it as well. “Everything you own that…that _Frank_ didn’t buy you is so old. Wouldn’t you like some new things? Some things that…that are relevant to your _new_ interests?” Gerard looked down at his plate and tried to keep from crying as tears rushed the backs of his eyes without cause. 

How upset would they all get if he told them he _had_ no interests now? It was hard enough learning to admit that to himself. He liked a lot of the music Mikey listened to, so maybe that was an interest, but Mikey already owned the CDs and tapes so why buy more? As for posters, he was no longer so keen on having photos of men—famous or not—watching him sleep, even if they couldn’t _really_ see him. And then Gerard began to wonder how angry they would be at him if he started listing movies he’d seen with his masters that he’d enjoyed or television shows he’d caught glimpses of and wouldn’t mind viewing the rest.

“Gee, you okay?” Gerard couldn’t answer when Mikey started rubbing his shoulder because he knew that if he spoke the tears would break free. “What’s the matter?” Gerard shook his head and forced the small bit of food that was left on his plate into his mouth so no one would expect him to talk. 

He was ashamed of himself…two weeks home, about a week with Frank, and he’d never even thought to pursue hobbies or take an interest in the various devices of entertainment around him. Frank had had a gaming system, but he’d never thought to play it while Frank was at work or ask him when he was home. He didn’t turn on the television for himself or pick out a movie to watch when he had the house to himself when Mikey was at school and his parents were at work. He was ashamed, because he wasn’t even making an effort to get back to normal. But it wasn’t intentional! The thoughts just didn’t cross his mind—they weren’t allowed to cross his mind for so many years…

Would his parents understand that? He didn’t mean to stay damaged…

The instant he swallowed his mouthful of food, he sobbed. He tried to cover it, but it was too late and he knew it so he set down his fork and left the table, shielding his face with his arm in hopes that they wouldn’t see him and retreated to the living room—praying they wouldn’t think he was trying to get out of the planned shopping trip by crying. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey sighed shakily, close to being close to tears himself. He was sure that if he kept thinking about reasons why Gerard might have fled the room—without even asking if he could get up, which was a first—he would start to get choked up, but still the thoughts kept coming. 

Something was different about those tears—whether their dad, who was mumbling something about Gerard trying to ‘cry his way’ out of going shopping, saw it or not. When Gerard cried to get what he wanted, he made a scene of it, and he didn’t mind begging for a person to change his or her mind. This time, Gerard had fought the tears and then, when they came, he tried to hide them further by running away.

“I don’t know what happened,” their mother said softly, sounding completely dumbstruck and sad. “What did I say?”

“I just told you,” her husband answered, being considerate enough to keep his voice low. “He’s just trying to get out of it.”

“But he looked so sad, didn’t you see him?—Mikey, didn’t you see him?” She looked to Mikey to back her up, her face etched with desperation and hurt.

“He doesn’t like being in his room, Mom,” Mikey said softly. “I don’t think redecorating is going to help.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” His father asked, still in a quiet mumble as he finished his meal.

“Because if we buy a whole bunch of new things just for his room, he’s going to feel obliged to go down there, and he _doesn’t want to_. He won’t tell us why—I think he’s afraid to tell us why, and that might be…might be why he’s crying.”

“But why wouldn’t he like his room anymore?” His mother asked, looking helpless. Mikey felt sorry for her. “I…I can’t think of any reasons why, and I don’t want to push him too hard to tell.” Mikey had learned very early in life to expect the unexpected, but even having his brother kidnapped for eight years didn’t prepare him for the shock of what his mother said next. “Do…do you think that…Do you think that Frank would know something?”

“Frank?” Her husband asked, sounding almost enraged. In response to his anger, she somehow found confidence.

“Well, he opens up more with Frank than he does with us. Maybe he told Frank, or…or maybe Frank could find out for us.” Mikey glanced around the dining room, making sure that he was still in his house and not in some alternate dimension. “It’s not so late in the day—we could invite him over. It would cheer Gerard up some.”

“I don’t want him in our house,” her husband spat back, reassuring Mikey that he was still on planet Earth. 

“I don’t care. He hasn’t hurt Gerard—”

“We don’t _know_ that. The doctors said that he had enough time to heal before the exam was done.”

“He hasn’t hurt our son!” Even though her voice was firm and driven by little more than strong emotions, she managed to keep from screaming. “I’m tired of you always saying that. It upsets Gerard and it pisses me off! Now I’m calling him and seeing if he’ll come over—Mikey, give me his number, I know you have it.” Mikey swallowed what felt like his tongue and stared at her for a moment. “Mikey, give it to me.” He stared for a few more seconds before he cleared his throat and his tongue returned and he was able to tell her what she wanted to know. 

She scared him when she was angry.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank was shaking by the time he lifted his hand to knock on the front door of Gerard’s family’s house. He had a terrible sense of something foreboding within the house, even though Gerard’s mother had nearly begged him to come over and visit her son. 

It seemed that Gerard had been sad lately…he could just join the club.

For whatever reason, Frank found himself sitting in his apartment most nights staring at a blank television screen and chancing glances at the empty couch in his office as if expecting someone to be there. He barely even made himself food to eat at home—he survived mainly off of snacks at the diner on his breaks. He couldn’t figure out why he was so attached to the man who had been in his home for only a few days—and those days had been nothing but stressful, draining, and terrifying. Why was he in love with a man who was more like a dog than a human? Because in the end Gerard started becoming more assertive and took back his place in the human species? Because he felt the need to return Gerard’s affection? Because it was hard not to love someone who put his dick in their mouth? Because he liked getting shouted at and having his protests ignored? 

Frank just didn’t understand it… How could he love someone he didn’t even know? He didn’t _know_ Gerard, he just spent time with him and learned some of his awful secrets—that hardly gave him insight into the man’s personality beyond his manipulative antics, his horrible temper, and his borderline depression.

He was completely capable of understand why he felt sympathy for Gerard and wanted to see him get better, but this out of place love and strange, fleeting lust he sometimes felt was utterly unexplainable. 

It was inappropriate. Wrong. Sick. _Unbearable_.

“Thanks for coming over,” Mrs. Way said the instant she pulled the door open. Frank looked behind her at her husband who was glaring at him bitterly and swallowed hard. “He’s still not talking to us.”

“Did you tell him I was coming?” Frank asked, not stepping into the house even though Mrs. Way gestured for him to. “I don’t want to just—”

“He’s been talking about you every day,” Gerard’s father hissed. “Don’t even act like you think coming around here isn’t going to make his fucking week.” Frank sighed nervously and looked down at the ground, wanting to sink into it and disappear. Was Gerard really worth this much hatred? 

Yes. Yes, he was.

“Look,” Frank said, swallowing the lump in his throat one last time and making eye-contact with the man. “It’s like I said on the phone—I don’t know why he won’t go in his room, and I still don’t think that—”

“Would you just come inside?” Gerard’s mother said. “Don’t listen to him; he’s being an asshole tonight.” Frank knew better than to argue with her irritated tone, and took two steps into the house so she could close the door.

( ) ( ) ( )

When Gerard saw Frank, he gave up. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed harder because this whole thing had turned into a mess he couldn’t cope with. It was true that part of him wanted to go and give Frank a hug because he’d missed him and he’d really wanted to see him again, but the rest of him knew that that was what everyone was expecting, and if he did it, it would upset them. His dad would roll his eyes and think about how irritating it was that his son was so affectionate towards a man he barely knew, and his mother would be upset because she’d see that he was more loving towards Frank than her.

His heart was aching so badly he could feel the sting in his veins.

He really wanted to see Frank, but it would just make more trouble. It hurt so bad having him close and not being able to even look at him in fear of ruining whatever miniscule things were left intact within the family he’d ruined by being born. Wouldn’t they have all been better off if Mikey was the only child? Then they wouldn’t have had to deal with his disappearance and then cope with his unwanted return.

He wanted his drugs, he really wanted his drugs—he shouldn’t have let Mikey stop him from making it to his room after they’d gotten home from the therapist. All it would have taken was one little line and this wouldn’t be happening. He’d feel better, and everything would be normal. He would have been able to return to life exactly as it had been before he’d been taken—except without having to go to high school and face the constant harassment form his peers.

“Gerard?” Frank sounded nervous… Gerard wanted to know why, but he assumed it had something to do with his father. He could practically feel the man seething from across the room.

Gerard kept his face in his hands and refused to look at anyone, even when Mikey started rubbing his shoulder in what he guessed was his brother’s way of offering comfort. Gerard wanted to slap him and see how compassionate Mikey would be then. Maybe if he beat him, his younger brother would think twice about coming in between him and the drugs he didn’t care if he got addicted to again. Gerard wanted them, and he deserved them. He was _going_ to have them, even if he had to bloody Mikey’s pretty little mouth to get them.

“G-Gerard?” Frank tried again. Gerard continued to do his best to ignore him. Why would his parents bring Frank here? Didn’t they hate him? Didn’t they think he was bad? 

Maybe they’d brought him over in hopes that Frank would take him back and get him out of their hair. Two weeks and one really bad session with the therapist was apparently all it took for them to lose their patience. 

Gerard wanted his drugs. He didn’t have to have to think about this anymore. He wanted to feel energized and invincible—completely fucked up and wasted. He wanted to lose control of himself, lusted to be used by something else—anything else. He wanted to feel anything except damaged. All he wanted was for everything to go back to normal.

Simple, easy, normal. Wake up with his master, let his master have his way with him in any way he wanted whenever his master wanted, be beaten when he made mistakes, make no decisions that were wrong because Master made the choices. Please Master and get kisses, upset Master and be beaten.

He wanted beaten. He wanted controlled.

He wanted _hurt_.

“Gerard, what’s wrong?” Mikey whispered in his ear. Gerard groaned in response, still not revealing his face.

“Mikey,” it was their dad. “Come on. Let’s leave them alone and see how _that_ goes.” Mikey sighed and then stood up, giving Gerard’s shoulder one last pat before he disappeared from the room.

And then Gerard was alone with him…he guessed it couldn’t hurt to hug him if they didn’t see. 

Frank crept over to him, but didn’t sit down on the couch until Gerard finally dropped his hands from his face and made a small gesture that said it was okay. 

“Your mom asked me to come over,” Frank mumbled. Gerard stared at him, knowing he looked pathetic but not caring anymore. He’d probably look worse high…

“Why?” Gerard asked, keeping his voice quiet so that no one could hear except for Frank, and only if Frank was really listening.

“She’s worried about you,” Frank muttered, looking at Gerard briefly and then staring at the floor. 

“Why are you here?” Gerard asked again, his voice still unbelievably quiet. Frank sighed heavily.

“They want to know why you won’t go in your room…and why you cried tonight at dinner.” So his parents had given up on figuring him out on their own. They hadn’t called Frank over to cheer him up, they planned to use Frank as a tool to get him talking. “And…and I agreed to come because when you came to visit me at work, you said you wanted my help with something but you never got to tell me what.” Gerard flinched. He’d wanted Frank to help him get rid of the drugs—the drugs he now wanted to use. 

He was at a cross-road. Tell Frank what he was hiding and stay clean, or keep it a secret and relapse. 

_What the fuck good would drugs do right now?_ He asked himself. _The best they could do is get you killed—but you know you’ll just end up in a half-way house or hospital…Do you really want to go there?_

“There’s something in my room,” the said in the same quiet tone. Frank looked at him and met his gaze. Frank was so beautiful…his face, his eyes, his _soul_. Gerard kept terrifying him, and yet he kept coming back for more. “I need help with it,” voice still no more than a murmur.

“That’s why you don’t like to be in there.” Gerard nodded and took in every little emotion on his precious lover’s face. He looked worried, he looked anxious, and he looked so very eager to please…kind of like a virgin. “Why didn’t you…ask your parents to help? Or Mikey?”

“I want you,” Gerard said. “To help,” he added, finally raising his voice a little louder than a whisper. 

“Why just me, Gerard? You know I can’t…I can’t really be with you all the time and this is…this was a big problem.” Gerard grunted quietly, wishing Frank would just agree and set up a plan for them to go to his room…maybe to get rid of the drugs, and maybe so they could be alone in a room with a bed.

Then Gerard whimpered because he didn’t know what he was thinking anymore. First he wanted his drugs, and now he wanted to further terrorize the only friend he had. Frank had told him that he loved him outside of the diner that day, why did that make him want to throw him on a bed and ravage him? 

Why did he have this unbreakable desire to be completely controlled when he dreamed of abusing and controlling Frank? Why did he want to turn into his master?...or worse, his _trainer_. He knew the pain of being beaten, and the horror of being raped, but he still wanted to see Frank’s pretty face contorting with the agony.

It just made him feel bad.

Maybe _that_ was what he and his therapist needed to discuss…it was something he sure as hell wasn’t telling Mikey about.

“Can you tell me what the problem is?” Frank asked, sounding nervous. “I’ll help.” Gerard looked at him, suddenly feeling his heart begin to beat faster. Now it was his turn to be terrified. “I promise that I’ll do what I can to help.”

“There are drugs in my room,” Gerard said rapidly, his voice going back to the miniscule mumble that he’d used before. Frank looked surprised, but still so very understanding. “I didn’t put them there,” he said, looking away from Frank and staring at the carpet. “I mean, I did, but _I_ didn’t.”

“They’re from before,” Frank said, _almost_ asked.

“Yeah,” Gerard whispered, swallowing hard once the words were out and feeling a little relieved to have the burden lifted, even if it was only slightly. Nothing had changed, but everything felt different. Maybe it was because Frank was seeing inside of him—because Frank would now know for a fact that he’d been a helpless crack addict who went to extreme measures to keep his stash of drugs hidden.

“Okay,” Frank said, looking towards the doorway and leaning forward in his seat as if preparing to stand up. “Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to your room, you’ll give it to me, and I’ll pretend to use your bathroom and I’ll flush it. Simple.” Gerard looked at him and nodded.

“I don’t want Mom and Dad to know,” he said. Frank seemed sympathetic. 

“We’ll need an excuse to get in your room. Your dad’s not going to like the idea very much.”

“I’ll say I’m showing you my drawings,” Gerard said, getting to his feet, some of his confidence coming back. 

“Drawings?” Frank repeated, standing as well and inclining his head a little.

“Yeah.” 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank felt like he was being led into a tomb, but couldn’t figure out why. He had been right in assuming that Gerard’s father was going to be pissed about the idea of the two of them being alone together, but his irritable wife was keeping him in check. Gerard was playing his manipulation games which had Frank in a cautious stance. 

Gerard got weird when he started jerking people around. He got forceful. Frank felt bad about it, but he didn’t trust him. He became especially nervous when Gerard made no motions to grab anything once they got into the room. He stood by his bed and looked at him as if…as if he _really_ liked what he was seeing.

Frank swallowed hard and tried to keep himself calm. Why did he love this man? Because they’d lived together and it was hard not to get attached to someone who is close at all times? Why was he in love with someone he was afraid of?

“It’s in my desk,” Gerard mumbled. “I don’t want to…to touch it. I might try to take some…” He looked ashamed of himself, and Frank felt bad for him.

“Okay,” he said, going over to the wooden desk and looking over the drawers. 

“The middle drawer…there’s a false bottom I made so I could hide them.” Frank nodded and looked where he’d been told, sifting through a stack of notebook paper that had been scribbled all over. Gerard’s handwriting really was atrocious. He managed to secure a grip on the very edge of the faux-bottom and pulled it up, instantly revealing two small bags of white powder—two grams of cocaine—and four small pills of what could only be ecstasy in a miniscule bag on their own. 

Trying not to think about it, Frank grabbed the bags and quickly placed them into his pocket, noticing Gerard watching him. He was shaking, his eyes looking frantic and tainted with conflict.

“My master tried to tempt me with drugs once after he got me clean,” Gerard practically whimpered. “He said I made it look easy to turn it down, but the only reason it seemed that way was because I didn’t want to make him mad at me—I was in trouble because I messed up his dinner the night before and I really didn’t want hit again. I couldn’t bear having him mad at me—I needed his love more than I wanted the high. I _need_ that high, Frank, but I don’t want them mad at me.”

“I’m going to get rid of it,” Frank said, keeping calm because he could see that Gerard was starting to lose himself. “Stay here, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Please don’t show them,” Gerard whimpered. “They’ll think I took some, and they won’t believe me if I say I didn’t.”

“I won’t show them,” Frank reassured, backing towards the stairs leading up because he didn’t want to turn his back to someone as desperate for a release as Gerard was at that moment. At that time, Gerard was hating himself for letting those drugs go. Frank could see it in his eyes. 

He was afraid that if he turned his back to Gerard, he’d maul him and take them back. And how would that look to Gerard’s parents? It would look like he carried drugs around in his pocket…which wasn’t a good thing.

Gerard made a distressed sound as Frank climbed the stairs, naturally having to turn around to avoid falling on the unfamiliar steps, but didn’t follow him. Frank moved through the house, locating the family in the living room—sitting in silence.

“That didn’t take long,” Gerard’s father muttered when Frank came into his sight. “No interest in artwork?”

“Um, no that’s not it. I need your bathroom?” Frank took in the suspicious look that the family was giving him, but was determined not to call anymore mistrust onto himself.

“Upstairs,” Mrs. Way said quietly. “The door on the left.” Frank thanked her and backed out of the room, catching Mikey’s gaze. There was a strange knowledge in his eyes.

He hurried up the stairs, looking around himself repeatedly to make sure Gerard hadn’t followed him silently. It was all easier than he thought it would be, closing the door behind himself and dropping the three bags into toilet. It was such a simple thing, pushing down on the handle and watching as the chemicals that had run and ruined Gerard’s life disappeared. 

Somehow, he didn’t feel like this was going to make anything better. As he washed his hands, he just started to wonder if Gerard had other places to hide his things—places he didn’t remember. What if he stumbled across a pill hidden between the pages of a book? Would he be able to get rid of it himself, or would he need help again? Or would help just be an afterthought?

He turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his jeans, readying himself to face Gerard again and whatever the man would throw at him—an insult, a fist, a kiss, or another rape. His very soul was filling with dread.

( ) ( ) ( )

Of course, Gerard clung to him the instant he got back into his bedroom, holding him close and nuzzling his neck. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“It’s not a problem, Gerard,” Frank said, lifting his arms in order to hug Gerard back and remembering just a little why he had so much affection for him. He was just so damned affectionate when he wasn’t busy being twisted, and when he wasn’t forcing someone to do what he wanted he could really be very sweet. Frank realized he didn’t want to let him go. Gerard hummed in content when Frank began to hug him back a little more enthusiastically.

And then Gerard pushed him away and bounded across the room to his desk, showing no signs of the aversion he’d had before but leaving Frank a little…confused. Mood swings, he reminded himself. Mood swings.

“Frank, you should see some of the things I used to draw—I was good at that.” Frank smiled softly and went over to the desk, looking over Gerard’s shoulder at the stack of papers he started sifting through.

They stayed like that for at least an hour, Gerard showing Frank sketches and paintings and Frank praising them and relishing the way Gerard’s pride began to swell. Finally, someone was telling him that he was good at something other than sex—that his worth was beyond his ability to get a man to come.

“Gerard, it’s getting late,” Mrs. Way called from upstairs. Gerard let out a long whine, and he glanced at Frank sadly. 

“I’ve got work in the morning,” Frank said softly. “Maybe they’ll let me come over again soon.” Gerard’s shoulders dropped and he looked disappointed. “Come on, let’s go upstairs before your dad comes down.” Frank started for the steps, but Gerard latched onto his wrist and pulled him back. He gasped, but managed not to make any other sounds of alarm that would alert the family upstairs.

Gerard pushed him up against the wall and kissed him, deeply. The action was more needy than forceful, even if Frank didn’t truly give his consent. Gerard didn’t seem to be trying to express his power or strength, he was desperately seeking the affection that he knew to come along with the praise he’d been receiving—all of the compliments on his sketches that ranged from simple to complex, innocent to completely malicious. 

Gerard broke the kiss only briefly, still holding his mouth very close to Frank’s and still keeping Frank pushed against the wall. In that short moment, Frank tried to speak, to tell Gerard they shouldn’t be doing this here, but as soon as his mouth was open Gerard returned to kissing.

Frank gave up, closing his eyes tightly because he just _knew_ someone was going to come downstairs and catch them, but opening his mouth further and returning the kiss, letting his tongue slide along Gerard’s. 

In between gasps of pleasure and Gerard’s pining whimpers, Frank remembered that he shouldn’t be doing this—Gerard was a victim and knew no better than to behave this way and that he needed told that he couldn’t do this—but he just couldn’t stop. Gerard wouldn’t let him stop. 

But it had to stop—especially when Gerard grabbed him by his hips and pulled him forward so that their bodies ground together. He gasped when he felt Gerard press against him, needing more than a kiss to calm him down.

“Don’t leave,” Gerard whimpered when Frank turned his face away, ending the kiss because there was no way it could continue. 

“You know I have to,” Frank said, panting. “You’ve gotta let me go.” He tried to push Gerard’s hands off of his hips, but Gerard just held him tighter and ground against him again, making his body react in the way his mind didn’t want it to and forcing a moan past his lips. 

“You need me tonight,” Gerard said, his choice of words so strange that it managed to steal most of Frank’s mind. He met Gerard’s eyes and saw what he’d expected—desperation, lust, and pain. 

“I have to go home,” Frank said softly, pushing Gerard backwards gently and slipping out from between him and the wall. “I love you,” he said quietly. Gerard lowered his head and crossed his arms over his chest in a protective, self-embrace. “I’ll try to see you soon, okay?” He received no answer. “Goodbye, Gerard.” Still only silence.

With a sigh, Frank climbed the stairs and crept past the family that was looking at him with all-knowing gazes. They didn’t say goodbye when he left.


	13. Where's Your Heart

Having Frank around the house was becoming a common occurrence, as was seeing Gerard smile and hearing him laugh. Since the night his mother had invited Frank over in hopes that he would be able to calm Gerard down, Gerard hadn’t protested to staying in his room and for the most part had quit crawling into bed with his family. Sometimes Mikey would still wake up and find Gerard lying beside him, either silently crying from pains he wouldn’t share or fast asleep with tears drying on his face. 

It was his nightmares—his flashbacks (which still overcame him when someone said the wrong thing)—that left him miserable on those nights. He never wanted to talk about what he dreamed or what had happened that he was remembering. 

Though their parents refused to believe it, Mikey felt that the therapist had damaged his brother. Gerard wouldn’t talk about his ‘kidnappers’—as he was forced to call the men who had owned him, one of whom he alternately hated and loved deeply—or speak a word about his life in those men’s care so long as he wasn’t angry and trying to cause harm. Unless, of course, he was talking to Frank.

Gerard would tell Frank the Fucking Waiter anything. Mikey tried not to be bitter about it, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know what made Gerard so upset that he had to crawl into bed with someone else for comfort—he wanted to know what every tear meant, and where every scar on his body came from. He wanted Gerard to trust him the way he trusted Frank.

Gerard was in love with Frank—and it went beyond his borderline-slave processes of thought that both his parents and the therapist attributed most of his behaviors to. Yes, Gerard still had self-worth issues, and he still asked if he was going to be hit nearly every single time someone asked him to join them in the next room, but he was also infamous around the house for being insubordinate when he knew he could get away with it.

Gerard was in love with Frank, that was why he asked his mother if she thought Frank would like a shirt in this colour or that at the store before he would agree to let her buy it. That was why he stared at Frank when he came in the house and refused to let anyone else keep Frank’s attention. That was why he kissed him so deeply when he thought the two of them were alone, and stopped when Frank began to fret. It was also why Gerard sometimes _didn’t_ stop when Frank asked and started trying to get in his pants until Frank would think of some excuse for them to stop.

Frank was an idiot for staying in Gerard’s line of vision—Gerard was a danger to him…because he loved him too fucking much. Maybe it had to do with Frank saving his life, maybe it had to do with Frank ‘owning’ him, but Gerard was feeling the emotion so strongly that he was literally drunk on it. He was incapable of seeing that he was causing damage each time he’d plead with Frank to touch him, and then touch Frank when he said no—trying to seduce him past the point of no return.

Mikey felt that that really was the last bit of Gerard’s slave-mentality that showed through his many, many masks. He wanted sex. _All the time._ Now he’d been forced to go nearly a month and a half without any and it was taking its toll. 

He was starting to get bitchy, and Frank—well, he just needed to watch the fuck out because Gerard was watching him like a hawk.

As it was, Frank had joined them for dinner again and—as per usual—he sat beside Gerard who constantly leaned over onto him playfully or nudged his leg beneath the table with his foot. As long as Gerard had Frank’s attention, he was happy…their father didn’t appreciate it so much, however, when he’d catch his oldest son groping their houseguest beneath the table. Gerard only rolled his eyes when he was scolded and would pass Frank—who always looked like he wanted to either disappear or die during those moments—a little look that said ‘my dad is an idiot’.

Tonight, though, things seemed different with Frank. 

He seemed resigned to his fate. Gerard was running a hand up Frank’s leg under the table, and Frank didn’t react except for to sigh. Gerard leaned on him and he merely looked at him—no shy, self-conscious remark asking Gerard to stop. He just let it happen…

And Mikey wasn’t the only one who noticed it—both of his parents saw Frank’s change in attitude…and, of course, Gerard did, too. 

It wasn’t until after dinner that the matter was addressed. Gerard asked Frank to go ‘hang out’ with him in his room, and his father intercepted…or at least attempted to.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea tonight, Gerard,” his father said, making Gerard’s happiness visibly falter. “Maybe Frank should just go home.” Frank had sighed and looked towards the front door, almost as if preparing to leave without saying goodbye. 

“But I was good today,” Gerard responded, putting on a five-year-old’s innocence—something that looked foolish on him. Something he’d outgrown but still carried with him…like a blanket or a doll.

“I just think he might want to go home a little early tonight since he has work in the morning.” Even if Gerard masqueraded as a five-year-old sometimes, he wasn’t one. He knew when someone was lying to him or trying to manipulate something in his line of vision.

“What did I do that made you mad?” Gerard asked, his words innocent but the expression on his face betraying his underlying anger and feelings of deception. 

“I’m not mad.”

“Dad, you’re obviously mad at me for something—or do you think I’m too stupid to deserve to know?” Throughout the whole argument, Frank never once spoke. He looked unhappy and drained, almost as if Gerard had absorbed the happiness from him and left him dry.

“Why don’t you two just watch a movie with the rest of us tonight?” Gerard’s mother asked. Gerard glared at her, too. 

“Why am I not allowed to be alone with my friend? It’s not like he’s selling me drugs…”

“Gerard, it’s not that—”

“It is that!” He spat back at his mother before grabbing Frank by the wrist and pulling him away from the conversation and down the stairs into his basement bedroom. Suddenly, his parents became aware that they weren’t going to come between Gerard and Gerard’s plans with Frank without enlisting Frank’s help.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Gerard, you really shouldn’t talk to your mom and dad that way,” Frank said as he was pushed into the bedroom. It had been another long day at work, three a.m. to four p.m., but he’d still been unable to bring himself to cancel his plans with Gerard. 

He saw himself as one of the only constants in Gerard’s life—he was the one who wouldn’t let him down, wouldn’t hurt him. Calling to tell Gerard that sleep and rest were more important than him would crush the man.

“But they’re acting strange and I don’t like it,” Gerard complained, going over to his desk and shifting through the ever-growing stack of papers on it. 

“That’s no reason to be mean, Gerard,” Frank mumbled, going over to him and letting himself rest his head on the back of Gerard’s shoulder. It kept Gerard from getting upset with him.

“You seem tired, Honey, are you tired?”

“A little,” Frank mumbled, put off by Gerard’s strange tone. It was indescribable—like his typical false innocence mixed with genuine concern…all combined with an out-of-place shyness.

“How long did you work today?” He asked, turning around and wrapping his arms around Frank lovingly, comfortingly. “Not like that one day, right?”

“No,” Frank answered, smiling against Gerard’s chest. “Not that long.”

“That’s good.” Gerard let go of him and turned back to his desk. It was obvious to Frank that he didn’t really care for a direct answer to his question—how many hours did he work. “I made something for you, but I can’t remember if I lost it in here somewhere or if I threw it away because I didn’t like it…”

“Aw, you made something for me?” Frank asked, forcing himself to become more animated to keep Gerard from fearing that he had no interest in him. “That’s so sweet.” Gerard made a strange, almost cooing sound. 

“Why do you think Dad was trying to throw you out?” Gerard asked suddenly, turning away from his desk and grabbing onto Frank again. 

“Because I didn’t stop you from touching me,” Frank answered bluntly. “You know he hates that, Gerard. You can’t keep doing it.”

“But you don’t care,” Gerard mumbled back.

“On the contrary, Sweetheart, I do,” Frank stated, knowing that even though he’d used a kind tone, Gerard was going to get upset.

“But…but why?” Gerard let go of him and backed into his desk, stumbling slightly but showing no other signs that he noticed. “You love me—you…you said you love me, why does it bother you if you love me? You do love me, right? In…in _that way_ , right, Honey? Frank, you didn’t lie to me?” He was starting to panic, Frank could see it in his eyes when Gerard was faking horror and actually experiencing it. “No, no, no—you love me! You said it! You said it—you _meant_ it!” He was shouting, loud enough that all sounds from the upstairs—the clinking of the dishes in the sink as they were washed—stopped.

“I _did_ mean it—and I do mean it! Yes, Gerard, I love you.” Gerard didn’t look convinced, he looked paranoid. “Sweetheart…what I meant to say was I don’t like it when you touch me like that with your parents there. It’s awkward…that-that stuff is _private_.” Gerard quieted and lowered his eyes to the floor as if he’d been yelled at or smacked. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sounding sincere.

“It’s okay,” Frank said back, sighing and glancing around the room that seemed to change every day. Paper stacks moved, art supplies moved, books moved in stacks—on his bed, onto the floor, on the desk, by the wall, in front of the door, back on the bed…Text books. He was studying all of the things he was supposed to have learned in high school. Apparently, according to what the state-appointed tutor told Gerard’s parents who told Mikey who then reported to Frank, Gerard was a very good student so long as rewards were offered for his efforts. (Most of the time, Frank was his reward.)

“Frank, are you attracted to me at…at, like, all?” Gerard asked suddenly, taking back all of Frank’s attention.

“What?” Frank stared at him, trying to keep his eyes from becoming too wide.

“You know…am I pretty to you?” His self-confidence had been wounded by their previous misunderstanding. 

“Yes,” Frank answered, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Yes, Gerard, you are.” He offered Gerard a smile and leaned up so he could kiss him gently on the lips—something they did often but he seldom initiated himself. “Almost too pretty—you make me jealous.” Gerard blushed slightly and looked away. “You know it’s true, too—that’s why you’re _blushing_ ,” he added on in a sing-song voice that made Gerard laugh. Then he suddenly started to look serious.

“Frank, I really love you—even if my therapist and my parents say that I don’t understand what that means.” Frank passed Gerard a thoughtful look, and reached out to touch his cheek, planning to caress it but pulling back when Gerard flinched away from him.

“Come sit on the bed and talk to me,” Frank said, knowing by the lost look in Gerard’s eyes that, whether he wanted to or not, Gerard needed to talk about it. Apparently, he wanted to because he followed Frank to the bed and dropped down on it heavily. “Did they tell you that?” He nodded.

“I was talking to the therapist about you, because we finally got to the part where I was allowed to, you know, without getting off-topic, and she said that maybe the only reason I’m attached to you is because I saw you as a master… I told her she was wrong because you…Frank, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not fit to control _anyone_. You’re too nice… Deep inside I knew from the very beginning that I could do anything to you and you wouldn’t ever hurt me, but I was still afraid it might happen so I behaved for the most part. Of course, Dr. Caroza said that that didn’t change the fact that I still called you Master and that ‘psychologically’ I invested emotions into you just by using the word—without knowing it.” Frank hummed to show that he was listening. “I tried to explain, but she didn’t listen. I don’t think she gets it still… Master is the name I give the people I’m scared of.” Gerard looked at the floor, his eyes starting to tear up. “I was scared of you for a while, Frank, but I got over it. You won’t hurt me…” He said the words, but Frank could see that he didn’t believe them. 

“So, Sweetheart, when did she say that you don’t understand love at all?” Frank started rubbing circles on Gerard’s back, getting the tears to creep away before they could spill.

“When I argued with her… I kept telling her that I loved you in a different way, and that I could _tell_ it was different. I told her that when you left for work, I was always afraid you’d get hurt or not make it home. When my master left for work, I only feared that he wouldn’t come back and that I’d starve to death or one of his friends would come and claim me. His friends scared me, you know? I was the only whore they weren’t allowed to sleep with. My master shared the others with them, but not me. I was his… _Just_ his.” Gerard sighed and leaned his head over onto Frank’s shoulder. “I tried to get her to believe me, but she just wouldn’t. There are different kinds of love…you can love someone you pity, and you can learn to love someone you’re afraid of just to stay alive. She believes me when I say I love Mom and Dad and Mikey, but not you… I don’t get it. Why is it believable that I can feel a different type of love towards Mikey than I did towards my master, but not towards you?”

“Because there’s sex involved,” Frank stated, wishing he hadn’t but having no choice but to answer him. Gerard whined.

“Dad says that I don’t know for sure that I’m attracted to men—that I might just _think_ that I am…” Gerard was visibly pained by the thought. “You know, because I’ve only been with guys and I never saw girls.” One of Gerard’s legs started to shake and Frank started rubbing his shoulder in a feeble attempt to get him to relax.

“What do you think?” Frank asked him softly. “Do you think he might be right?”

“I never liked girls, Frank—not ever, not for a minute, not once. Never. Mikey knows that…that’s why he doesn’t say anything to me about us…”

“You mean, back when you were still home, you—”

“I told Mikey because when I was in seventh grade he asked why I didn’t have a girlfriend. But I was afraid of what Dad might do to me if he found out, so I told Mikey he couldn’t tell otherwise a group of people would come arrest me and put me in jail for life—he was a little kid. He believed me.”

“Maybe you should tell your dad about that,” Frank suggested. Gerard sat up straight and shook his head.

“He won’t believe me. He doesn’t want to accept that he has a fag and a whore for a son.”

“Gerard!” Frank started, only to be cut off.

“It’s fucking true, okay!? I was a fag before I was anything else, and a whore every moment after! And nothing you can say will change that!” Frank told himself not to respond to the outburst, that Gerard just needed to vent, but hearing those words still upset him and he couldn’t help but react.

“So what am I then?” He asked, noticing that Gerard immediately lost his rage and began looking scared. “I gave my first handjob in the sixth grade, the next year I sucked my first dick—I slept with two girls in eighth grade, slept with four guys in ninth and lost count after that. A whore is someone who sleeps around, Gerard. You’ve only ever been with one person.” Gerard looked close to tears, but looked like he had something more to say. “And if you really want to be literal about it, a whore is someone who has sex for money. Did you get money? No. You were a slave, you were a victim—not a whore, not a slut, a _victim_. End of story.”

Gerard was quiet for seventeen minutes.

“If you slept with so many people already, why won’t you sleep with me?” he asked cautiously. His tone didn’t sound bitter or jealous, it sounded self-conscious—it made it so he didn’t have to add ‘what’s wrong with me?’

“Because I feel differently about you. A lot of the guys I was with were just for…for the sex—I was young and I wanted it, and if I could get it I was going to take it. Then some of them…I was just trying to get their attention because I liked them. All of those relationships ended so badly, sometimes for them and sometimes for me. I’d never want to have that happen to you and me, so I’m being careful…and you’re still hurt, Gerard. From everything that’s happened—I know it’s not fair for me to say this to you, but I’m scared that if I do something with you, you might flashback and I don’t know how I’d handle it. I love you—I don’t want to hurt you on accident.” Gerard looked like he’d been insulted and then punched in the gut. “Sweetheart?” He asked after several minutes of silence. Gerard’s eyes were tearing again.

“That was…that was mean.” Frank sighed and stared at the floor, feeling the bed shift as Gerard scooted away from him.

“But it’s the truth, though,” he whispered, his voice threatening to break as he realized he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Some things needed to remain unsaid, no matter how true or important they were. “And you know if your parents found out—”

“They’d keep you away. Yeah, I know.” He’d shut down. He wasn’t listening anymore or trying to understand.

“Should I go?” Frank asked quietly. Gerard didn’t answer. “Gerar—” Frank was silenced when Gerard slapped him. It was hard enough that it knocked him off the edge of the bed and his head hit the floor with a dull thud.

“You know how they should be able to _tell_ that I fucking love you? Because I put up with you! If I didn’t fucking _love_ you,” Gerard growled, standing up from the bed and moving to stand with his legs on either side of Frank’s hips, “I would have beaten you until you were submissive to me when I was still in your apartment. I would have fucked up your world! I could have told those police anything—I could have said that you raped me. Fuck, Frank, I could _still_ tell them that!” Gerard continued to shout at him, but Frank did his best to close his eyes and tone him out. 

He’d hurt Gerard, so Gerard deserved to get revenge. He’d penalized Gerard for something he couldn’t help—how was he expected to react? With tears? Deep down, Gerard wasn’t sad. Deep down, Gerard was pissed off at everyone. So he responded to the heartache with anger.

Frank accepted it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard came to from a haze of red to see Frank lying on the floor, a red mark on his cheek and pain etched on his face as well as the position of every limb. He whined softly as he recalled what he’d done—pleased hadn’t done worse. He’d slapped him, then shouted at him…fortunately, he hadn’t done what he’d had in the back of his mind which was throw Frank back onto the bed and take him—rape the hell out of him so he knew what those flashbacks and nightmares were like. 

Having thoughts like that wasn’t how you convinced someone that you loved him…

“Frank?” Gerard asked softly, relieved when Frank opened his tightly shut eyes. “Frank, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, tears rushing him despite his efforts to bite them back. “Please don’t leave,” he stammered as Frank sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it had struck the floor. “I’m sorry—I just lost control! I didn’t mean to hurt you…I don’t want you to leave me.” Frank stood up without saying anything, making Gerard even more paranoid…knowing Frank was going to leave and knowing that he’d never get the chance to see him again. “I don’t try to be abusive, Frank—I love you. Don’t go, I—”

“I think it’s best if I just go home now,” Frank said softly, meeting Gerard’s eyes. Frank looked angry.

“Honey, I’m sorry, though!” Gerard whimpered, knowing sorry wasn’t ever good enough. He could hear his trainer saying it. “Frank, please—”

“No, Gerard,” Frank muttered. “You’re tired. You need some rest. I’ll see you some other time.” Gerard whimpered, knowing he couldn’t make him stay.

It was crueler than being held captive, having to watch Frank leave him. Suddenly, he understood how his master must have felt…how many people had left him so that that he had to keep three people trapped in his house at all times in order to be happy?

His legs fell out from underneath him and his knees slammed into the floor painfully, making him gasp and then give in to the tears that were coming. He clasped a hand over his mouth and sobbed hard, leaning forward until his knees were at his chest and his forehead touched the floor.

A high-pitched whine escaped him as he heard the front door close as Frank left him. The shame he felt was overwhelming, drowning him. Why would he do that to Frank? Why would he chase away the only person who could ever love him?

His shoulders shook violently as he sobbed and choked on his tears, loud wails escaping him that he no longer attempted to withhold. No one was coming to check on him—they knew what he’d done. They all knew what a monster he was, how evil he was…how underserving of their sympathy he was.

The sobs came harder and took most of his breath, leaving him panting heavily in between unstoppable cries. His chest tightened and he grabbed at it with his free hand, still desperately covering his mouth with the other as if trying to stifle his cries.

All at once, he started gagging, his stomach twisting from the constant jerks of his body as the sobs tore through him.

He knew this feeling—this awful, exhausted, desperate feeling. He’d been here before with his trainer, left in one room or another in the most horrific pains imaginable. Then, he’d cried because he wanted saved and wanted mercy, now he cried because he knew it would never come. Freedom held pains of its own. New pains. Ones he didn’t know how to handle.

The nausea came over him again and he tried to move to stumble over to his bedroom door, but gave up. He didn’t want to go up there and let them all see him like this. What would they say?

“See, Gerard? We were right. He should’ve just gone home.” Gerard whimpered and rolled onto his side, looking at the doorway of his bedroom and wanting Frank to be there… But Frank wouldn’t be there. Frank left. Frank gave up.

Gerard wanted his drugs back…he wondered if he had more, and if he did where would he think to hide them?

( ) ( ) ( )

Listening to Gerard cry was making Mikey physically sick. He wanted to go down there to comfort him, but every time he tried to stand from the couch his father would grab his arm and pull him back down. 

What was the point? Why wasn’t he allowed to go help his brother? Didn’t they see that, although Gerard was getting better, he was far from being recovered? If Gerard was crying, it meant he needed help—and if Gerard was down in his room screaming from crying so hard, it was obvious that he was in agony. How could they listen to that and not react?

“I’m going to check on him,” Mikey stated after thirty minutes, shoving his father’s hand off of his arm and starting to leave the room.

“Leave him be,” his father stated firmly.

“Mikey, we told you what his therapist said,” his mother argued lightly, keeping a gentle tone of voice as if it would work on her youngest son the way it did her oldest. Her efforts failed.

“That woman is an idiot,” Mikey argued. “She upsets him more than she helps him. She’s wrong about this—I can’t take listening to that anymore. He needs someone right now.”

“Well, he chased _someone_ away, now didn’t he?”

“They had a fight!” Mikey shouted, turning to face his father with both anger and resentment. “They had a _fucking_ fight and he feels awful about it! Can you not see that!? Jesus Christ, Dad—use your head for a minute! Can you imagine how devastated he is right now? He knows we can hear him crying—he knows we’re not coming to help him. Do you really think it’s good for him to feel like his own family doesn’t give a shit about him when upset?”

“Mikey…has a point, honey,” his mother said to her husband. The man passed Mikey a cold glare and then sat back down.

“Fine. If you think you know better than the doctor, go.” Mikey rolled his eyes irritably and fled from the living room, hurrying towards the sounds of his brother’s cries and eager to make them stop before they drove him insane. 

He found Gerard lying on the floor, curled in a ball and looking helpless and broken. When Gerard saw him, he stopped crying and suddenly looked ashamed, his eyes flooding with terror as if he expected to be yelled at for his tears or for the fight he had had with Frank.

“Hey,” Mikey said to him softly, walking slowly into the room and sitting down on the floor beside Gerard slowly. Gerard attempted to say something, but he only managed to make a few incoherent sounds before sobbing again, quietly this time but still overcome with pain. “It’s okay,” he said softly, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder for a few moments before wrapping both of his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and pulling him up into a sitting position. 

“He won’t come back, Mikey,” Gerard sobbed, pressing his head firmly against Mikey’s chest and using him entirely for support to keep from falling back onto the floor.

“Yes he will,” Mikey said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, lifting a hand to stroke his brother’s hair. 

“But he’s mad at me—I told him I was sorry, but he’s still mad and I can’t do _anything_.”

“Give him some time, Gee,” Mikey stated, holding his brother a little closer as he felt Gerard start to hug him back. “People need time when they get upset.” Gerard shook his head, still keeping his face buried in Mikey’s chest. “Yes, they do. That’s why I leave the house when I’m mad at Mom and Dad—so I can get some space so I don’t say something I don’t mean or make things worse.”

“Did Frank tell you what I did?” Gerard asked, choking on his words and then sniffing loudly. 

“No,” Mikey answered, sighing as he wondered if Gerard really had done something terrible or if he just overreacted to a miniscule event.

“I yelled at him,” Gerard whimpered. Mikey bit into his lower lip in confusion. Since when did Gerard ever feel bad for yelling at Frank? That was one of the first things Mikey ever saw him do to Frank—shout at him to get his attention or to command him to do something. “And I hit him…I hit him, Mikey! _Hit him!_ ” Mikey clicked his tongue and stroked Gerard’s hair again softly. 

“Why did…what did he do that made you mad?” It wouldn’t do any good to restate the obvious—to tell Gerard like a five-year-old that hitting people when you’re angry is not okay. There wasn’t any need to make him feel guilty when he was already suffering enough. Gerard learned to behave when he was punished for doing things that were wrong. Having Frank leave without accepting his apology was practically a punishment as severe as a physical beating.

“We were just talking,” Gerard whimpered, pulling away from Mikey so he could sit up on his own. “And then he told me why he won’t sleep with me.” Mikey tried to keep from cringing at the topic—as ‘mature for his age’ as he reputedly was, hearing his brother talk about sex was not one of his favorite topics of conversation.

“You didn’t like what he had to say?” Mikey asked, trying to give Gerard an excuse not to go into detail with Frank’s reasoning. Gerard stared at the floor and choked back a sob.

“He said it’s because he’s afraid I’ll have a flashback and that he won’t know what to do—and it’s not like I can help it if that happens! There’s nothing I can do to make sure that won’t happen and I feel really bad because I know I’ll never get better! I’ll be fucked up my whole life! My master should have killed me, Mikey! I’d be better if I was dead!—in the dumpster, guts split open.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Mikey said. “I don’t like hearing that—”

“But it’s the truth!” Gerard argued, sobbing again and covering his face with his hands.

“No it isn’t! Our family is better with you here! It wasn’t right when you were gone—even if you’re fucked up it’s better with you here than it ever was without you. I know you’re completely incapable of believing that because your self-worth is shit, but it’s true. I don’t have to spend every night on park benches or at friends’ houses because Mom and Dad can’t bear to look at me.”

“Mom and Dad like you more than they like me,” Gerard mumbled dejectedly. 

“No, Gerard,” Mikey said, remembering many things and feeling something cold drop into his stomach, “they don’t.” A silence came over them and, as if trying to cure it, Gerard leaned his head back over onto Mikey’s chest and sighed. “Frank will forgive you, Gee. It wasn’t anything serious. Just don’t let it happen again—don’t let your anger take over you like that. I know it hurt, what he said, but…but, Gerard, you’re better than that. He was just worried, and at least he was honest with you.” Gerard made a whimpering noise and nuzzled Mikey’s chest gently. “And, hey, you know he _wants_ to, right? You should be happy.” Gerard groaned.

“But he doesn’t…he doesn’t _love_ me, Mikey.”

“Yes he does—he wouldn’t put up with Dad if he didn’t.” Gerard was silent. “You’re quiet. What are you thinking?”

“…that I don’t feel attractive anymore. And that if I were Frank, I’d do anything possible to get rid of me…” Mikey sighed.

“Stop talking like that, Gerard,” he said firmly. “You’re just going to depress yourself.”

“But it’s how I feel.” Gerard sat up slowly and whined. “And I really want Frank to come back…I didn’t mean to make him sad. You know, the truth is that I…I’m just as worried as he is about what would happen if we did try to sleep together. I don’t want to hurt him on accident, and I want to enjoy it…and want…want him to enjoy it, too.”

“I know,” Mikey said softly. Gerard made a quiet noise and sighed. “You two will…get to that point. You don’t have to rush it.”

“But I _want_ it,” Gerard groaned. “I know this is torture to your delicate, ladylike sensibilities—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Mikey hissed playfully.

“—and I’m corrupting your virginal purity—”

“Bullshit…”

“—and leaving your innocence in tatters—”

“What innocence?”

“—but I need to fuck like a fish needs to swim…”

“Beautiful analogy, Gerard,” Mikey said, shaking his head and sighing. It was obvious that Gerard wanted to escape the topic, so he allowed it. If Gerard was so desperate that he had to result to humor when he was still visibly close to tears, Mikey wasn’t going to push it. He didn’t want to make Gerard cry anymore, and thinking about it was just going to make him break down further. “Do you want to go upstairs and watch a movie with me and Mom and Dad?” Gerard looked at the floor and then nodded. “Okay, we’ll let you pick something out since you never do.”

“Okay,” Gerard mumbled, accepting Mikey’s help to get back onto his feet. “Are Mom and Dad mad at me?”

“Nah, they just thought you wanted to be alone.” Mikey met Gerard’s eyes as he spoke, but Gerard kept looking away.

“I _did_ want to be alone. You’re really nosy, Mikey.” Gerard smiled softly and Mikey returned the look before gently patting Gerard’s shoulder. It felt good to be like this again—to be able to see Gerard and laugh with him, to help him when he was upset and hold him when he cried. Even if it now often seemed that Gerard was the younger sibling and he, Mikey, was the older, Mikey didn’t mind…as long as Gerard was home.

( ) ( ) ( )

After getting a text message from Mikey telling him not to worry about Gerard, he was sleeping in his bed tonight—and after trying to figure out if that was Mikey’s way of saying ‘you’re an asshole and Gerard is still upset’ or if he meant that he really shouldn’t worry because Gerard was getting comfort from somewhere—Frank left his apartment and started wandering down the street. He felt like he had too many emotions swirling around inside of him for his four walls to handle and needed to consult the limitless air outside. 

He shouldn’t have said those things to Gerard…He shouldn’t have left after Gerard hit him…He shouldn’t have allowed Gerard to get attached to him…shouldn’t have let him stay in his apartment…shouldn’t have bought him…shouldn’t have been there that night…shouldn’t have played the lottery.

If he hadn’t played, though—if he _hadn’t_ been there that night…where would Gerard be? Would he be dead? Would he be in pain?

Where would Mikey be tonight if not in his bedroom, sharing it with his older brother? Wandering the streets? Worrying about Gerard? Studying?

And what about the parents? What would they be doing? Sleeping? Fighting? Missing their first-born child?

Frank’s legs carried him to a gas station that he passed without stopping to buy anything…past apartment buildings and rundown houses…past closed up shops and open liqueur stores.

In the end, he turned up at Ray’s without having called ahead of time and asked if Ray had the time for him. He thought about turning back and going home, his head no clearer than when he left but knowing that the night was growing strong and the hostility and the danger in the air were waking up, but Ray must have seen him coming because he opened the door without Frank needing to knock or ring the bell.

“What’s up?” Ray asked, his tone suggesting that he didn’t mind the prospect of company.

“I…” Frank shrugged, unable to complete the sentence. There wasn’t much to say. I fought with Gerard? I feel guilty about refusing to have sex with Gerard? Ray did not need to hear that.

“You gonna come in or just stand outside on the steps all night?” Frank offered Ray a weak smile and slid past him into his home. “Something happen today?” Ray asked as he closed and locked the door before guiding Frank into the living room as if he didn’t know where it was.

“I guess I fought with Gerard,” Frank mumbled, dropping heavily onto the couch. 

“Still seeing him then?” Ray asked, turning on the television and flipping it onto a station that had nothing interesting playing. 

“I guess.”

“You sound depressed,” Ray observed. “I bet you haven’t been playing guitar lately.”

“I can’t play that often in the apartment. It’s a noise violation—I’ll get evicted.”

“So come here and play—it’ll help you vent.”

“Gerard’s brother plays guitar,” Frank mumbled. Ray sat down in the chair beside the couch and looked at him almost skeptically. “What?” Frank asked, sighing and crossing his legs.

“We should invite him over some time, and we can all play together.”

“Yeah, I doubt he’s gonna wanna do that, Ray. What part of hanging out with the two men who kept his brother held hostage sounds like fun?”

“Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with it—I told you to go to the cops right away and you wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Frank mumbled.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened, or are you just going to sit on my couch and pretend like you’re not about to cry all night?” Frank sighed and shrugged his shoulders. 

“He didn’t…” Ray shifted in his seat and leaned further forward. “Frank, he didn’t… _again?_ ” Frank groaned in frustration—wondering how Ray found out about the incident with Gerard—and shook his head.

“No…he’s not like that. Why does _everyone_ think he’s like that?”

“Because, Frank, he _is_ like that.”

“No, he’s not!” Frank spat. “Goddamn, even his dad thinks he’s evil—what did those police tell everyone!?”

“What _Gerard_ told them.”

“Gerard _lies!_ ” Frank growled. “Gerard lies _a lot!_ He wanted to make sure I didn’t get arrested so he made himself look like the bad guy—he’s not that bad!” Frank shook his head and leaned back against the couch heavily. “He hit me tonight…I said something that really hurt him and he reacted the only way he knew how.”

“Frank, that’s not how he _knows_ how to react,” Ray said softly. “You know as well as I do that all he really ‘knows’ is sex and slavery,” he explained to Frank who shook his head and tried to tone him out—not wanting to hear his love insulted so bluntly. “He’s hitting you because that’s what his master did when he misbehaved—Frank, he wants to control you, not love you—”

“That isn’t true!” Frank spat. “He doesn’t do it on purpose! He felt horrible, Ray!”

“Because you didn’t bow down to him and apologize! Frank, don’t you see it at all?”

“What I see, Ray, is a side of him that he doesn’t show everybody else! He doesn’t let everyone else see that he’s sad all the time, and he trusts me not to tell on him like a five-year-old whenever he does something wrong! Gerard is so scared right now—he wants to be normal, and he knows that he can’t be, he wants loved but he’s afraid it’ll get taken away from him…He’s _lonely,_ Ray. He’s doing everything he can to please everybody, and it’s crushing him because he just _can’t._ ”

“Frank…”

“It’s the truth. You don’t even know him.”

“I know that he sat at your kitchen table, looked me in the eye, and said he was going to make you have sex with him because he thinks you’re cute.”

“He was trying to fuck with you!” Frank spat, knowing he was fighting a losing battle, but wanting to defend Gerard regardless…even against his own best friend.

“But he went through with it, didn’t he?”

“All he fucking did was suck me off! Would you leave it, already? It’s none of your business…” Ray finally seemed to give up after that.

“Frank, you’re my best friend. I just want to make sure you’re not getting hurt—can you really be mad at me for that?” Deep down, Frank knew that he was right—most of what Ray was afraid of was reasonable…justified—but to speak ill of Gerard seemed cruel. He loved him, but he wasn’t blinded by their romance. Gerard could get mean, Gerard could be hurtful, Gerard could definitely cause harm…but Gerard was also very insecure, traumatized, and… _affectionate._

He wanted Ray to see that side of him…that sweet, shy side—the one that emerged when he was praised for his artwork or complimented on how he looked.

“Maybe…maybe Mikey would come over sometime to play,” Frank mumbled. “Gerard really wants to hear him play the guitar, but he’s not allowed to at home because their parents don’t like the noise. Gerard could come with him…we could hang out.”

“Except for Gerard hates me—imagine what he’d do to my house.”

“He’s not a fuckin—”

“I’m teasing you,” Ray said, a quick defense because Frank could tell that he’d really meant what he’d said.

“Gerard told me that he only acted the way he did around you because he didn’t like you taking my attention away from him. He’s gotten better about that, and if Mikey’s here he won’t be completely on his own if I talk to you.”

“Or he might feel even worse because all three of us can play guitar and he can’t.”

“Yeah, but he can draw and we can’t,” Frank said, eager to turn the conversation on to something positive. “He’s like, really, _really_ good.”

“He did kind of strike me as the tortured artist type,” Ray stated casually before he started to smirk. Frank looked him over cautiously. “Aw, Frankie—did he do a portrait of you?” Frank stammered and began to flush a dark shade of red. “He did, didn’t he? Ha!”

“Oh, shut up! It was _cute!_ ”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had to beg, and it usually got him nowhere when he begged so he typically had to try to bribe. He wanted to go with Mikey to play guitar with Frank and Ray…Mom said no and Dad _really_ said no. 

The word ‘please’ had no effect on them…forcing tears to start made them get angry, and getting angry just made them get frustrated, so he had to try to bribe them…

But with what? What was he willing to do? He had to keep his word in order for his briberies to continue to have an effect. 

There was only one thing he could think of…

“If you let me go with them I’ll start telling my therapist the truth…” Gerard thought it would work, but it made his father’s face turn slightly red. Suddenly, he was afraid of being beaten, so he backed up instantly, unintentionally slamming himself back into the kitchen counter and upsetting a glass of water that had been sitting there. He couldn’t hold back the miniscule scream that escaped him when he heard the glass tumble and felt the water rush the back of his shirt and chill his skin, or the whine that came after his father advanced him. “I’m sorry!” Gerard gasped, his legs giving out and dropping him onto the floor against the cabinets. 

“Quit that,” his father spat, reaching down and grabbing him by his shirt’s collar. “Get up.” He started pulling, but Gerard’s legs were shaking too hard and his mind was too stunned to send the signals to get him to his feet. 

Gerard managed to cover his face, shielding it from the blows he expected as the tears immediately started and he began to sob deeply from the terror and promise of pain. 

“Sorry!” Gerard pleaded. “Please! I’m sorry!” His father kept pulling until he finally stood, hunched into himself and trembling.

“What the fuck have you been telling her if you’ve been lying this whole time!?” His father shouted. There was more disappointment in his voice than anger, and more distress than frustration…but he still yelled, so Gerard still expected the blows—the slaps to his face and jabs in the gut that he deserved.

“Whatever you tell me!” Gerard cried out, not knowing how else to answer. “I say what you tell me to say…” He wailed in fear as his hands were pushed away from his face, exposing him to whatever pain may come. He made an attempt to look his father in the eye, but lost the will and cowered instead. He felt like he should have been braver—there was a purpose to getting his father to believe that he’d been holding something back from the therapist…

Holding something back…that wasn’t the same as lying. Had he said he’d been lying? He had…But holding something back _was_ lying…

“Gerard, what have you been saying to her!?”

“I’m sorry!” It wasn’t an answer to his question…he deserved to be beaten for so many things tonight. Lying, avoiding questions…knocking over glasses. “Dad, I’m sorry! Please—please, I didn’t mean to!”

“Gerard, quit it. Calm down!” But how could he calm if he was being yelled at? If there was a definite punishment in his future. He was scared—what would happen? What would happen when his father realized he was trying to get out of that punishment?

Father… _Father_ , Gerard reminded himself, not Master. Father. Dad…

There was a thudding on the staircase and Gerard chanced a glance at the doorway, spotting his mother and wanting to hide behind her. He couldn’t though. His father was holding him back and he had yet to be punished…

“Honey, what the hell are you doing!?” She shouted. “Let him go!” Instantly, the force holding Gerard up disappeared and his legs gave out again. On his way down his head hit the side of the counter and he cried out from the pain.

“He just told me he’s been lying to his therapist this whole time.”

“So you fucking hit him?”

“I never hit him!” Gerard whimpered, wanting them to cease fighting but knowing better than to ever open his mouth to come between them, and crawled a little across the floor, staying pressed against the cabinets but creeping away from his father’s legs.

“Gerard,” his mother said to him softly. “Gerard, sweetheart, come here. It’s okay.” She shouldered past her husband and kneeled down beside her son. Gerard couldn’t help but flinch away from her. “Gerard…”

“He said he’s been lying to his therapist,” his father restated. 

“I didn’t lie,” Gerard stammered. “I just didn’t tell her something. I’m sorry. I won’t hide anything else—I’ll tell the truth—I’m sorry. I get scared to share things—I won’t hold back again. I’m sorry—don’t be mad. I’m sorry. So sorry.” As he spoke, he slowly fell into himself until he was lying on the floor, barely noticing that he had raised his thighs submissively in a position proposing sex.

It was like his mind had gone blank—so empty that even his absence of thought resonated in the darkness. He saw the floor, and the shadowy lights reflecting on it and the misty figures it mirrored obscurely…but he didn’t see them. He became so in-tune with being out-of-tune with his body…

His legs should be spread wider, his back should be arched more.

With no more effort than it took to sigh, his back dipped farther and his knees slid farther apart. 

He wanted forgiveness. He was ready.

He didn’t hear the voice around him, and hardly registered the caress that ran down his shoulder blades. 

It was very much like he was underwater…lingering at the floor of a swimming pool. Everything was distorted, but tranquil, rushing in and out of his senses. It was very cool, very quiet…very far from pain, void of memories other than instincts.

Something wrapped around him, and he felt as if he was being gently rocked back and forth. It was a sensation foreign to this peaceful place. 

Perhaps he was being caught in the undertow, the things like arms wound around him were the mixing currents, and the force rocking him back and forth was the waves.

There was a loud, muffled sound and Gerard tried to focus on it instead of the waves which were making him seasick. The sound came again, the same as before, but louder…and again. It was a familiar sound…it was a voice. Maybe, it was forming a word.

It was insistent…repeating itself. He didn’t know if he liked it or not…

Maybe it was a growl… There was a definite, pronounced ‘r’ in the word.

It sounded like someone was saying ‘rar’…

He listened a little closer, widening his legs because he knew something was supposed to happen with them, but since nothing was coming he had to be doing something wrong…

“Ger…” He perked at the sound, the word becoming more distinct. “Gerard…” Gerard? He didn’t like that name… And he didn’t like the currents rushing around his shoulders—he tried to fight them by merely squirming, but it didn’t work. The water-like membrane he’d fallen into was too thick to move through. “Gerard.” He sighed, hating the repetitive sound. “Gerard?” 

Suddenly, he felt the thing he’d been expecting without knowing it. A firm touch on his lower back. He pressed backwards against the hand and grunted softly, like a person awaking from sleep. The touch didn’t continue as expected, though. His hips were pushed back down, his offering rejected.

His eyes snapped open, the kitchen floor coming back to him.

“Gerard?” Mom. “ _Gerard?_ ” Gerard grunted again, still very quietly, all of his muscles feeling stiff and rigid. “Sweetheart?”

He felt like he was waking up from a nap, but he couldn’t remember ever going to sleep, or why he’d choose the kitchen floor as a bed of all the places his house had available…Mikey’s bed was a lot more comfortable, and he was at class.

“Gerard?” Dad.

Groggily, Gerard sat up, feeling arms fall off of his shoulders. His knees hurt badly, but he didn’t remember why he had been lying on all fours. Today just felt so strange…

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Mom. Okay? Why wouldn’t he be okay? Shaking off her worries, Gerard staggered onto his feet and started for the staircase. He was exhausted…he wanted to take a nap and he knew his parents wouldn’t mind. Mikey’s room really was the best place. The bed was soft and Mikey always went there first to put his things away, so he knew Mikey would find him and wake him up.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was woken when Mikey closed the bedroom door behind him as he came in. He stared at him groggily, face mostly buried in the soft pillow but still somehow able to see through the mess of his hair…hair he really wanted to re-dye and cut. His brown roots were coming in, the black at the ends was fading, and hair that almost reached his shoulders was just…just too long for him.

Mikey was looking at him… Even as he tossed his school bag to the floor and set down his text books. It made him nervous.

“Welcome home,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Are you okay, Gerard?” Mikey asked. He looked really worried…

“Yeah,” Gerard answered, looking away from Mikey’s worried eyes to the wall and then back. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He sat up slowly and stretched sleepily. Naps were great—he loved this homeschooling thing. He could nap whenever he wanted and never get behind in his schoolwork. 

“Dad told me what happened today…” Gerard blinked and tilted his head just a little. Happened today? Nothing happened. He remembered being at lunch, putting his plate in the sink…and then going to take a nap.

“Mikey…Nothing—”

“Gerard, it’s okay to talk about it. You don’t need to lie to me.” Gerard flinched, not liking Mikey’s almost insulting tone. 

“I’m not lying,” Gerard grumbled. “Nothing happened.” Mikey sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “ _What?_ ”

“Dad _told_ me what happened… That you told him you’ve been lying to your therapist and then you freaked out…” Gerard looked at him in confusion…none of this registering in his mind.

“What do you mean ‘freaked out’?” He asked curiously. Mikey sighed heavily and leaned against the closed door. 

“Do you really not remember, Gerard?” Mikey asked, looking sad. Gerard sighed heavily and laid back down, not liking this conversation at all. It made him nervous. If he’d really told his father that, and he really did have some sort of an episode afterwards, why didn’t he remember? Those were two very important things. “Okay then…I won’t push it.”

“Did…did Dad hit me?” Gerard asked before swallowing hard. 

“No,” Mikey answered. “No, Gerard. Why?” Gerard inhaled deeply, thinking back to days with his trainer…days he didn’t remember.

_You were good yesterday, Baby. Why don’t you do what you did for me last night?_ Only he _hadn’t_ been good yesterday—he’d been so awful he’d been beaten severely, not praised and allowed to do a line of cocaine. So an entire twenty-four hours of his memory had been missing.

“He…he had to have. If I don’t remember, he had to have done something to me…” Gerard lifted his hand and touched the side of his head where he felt a twinge of pain. “It hurts here,” he mumbled to himself as he gently rubbed the afflicted area. It wasn’t the blow to his head that had taken his memory, it was the trauma of having it happen…or at least Gerard supposed that that was what it had been.

“Gerard, Dad swears he didn’t hit you—he _wouldn’t_ hit you.”

“Well then…what did he say happened?”

“He said you told him you’d been lying to the therapist and that when he yelled at you, you started to cry and then fell…” Mikey trailed off, looking like he had something else to say.

“What else?” Gerard asked, thinking that—so far—what he was being told sounded so… _like him._ The plan he’d made to get their father to let him go see Frank, Mikey, and Ray play guitar, the way he would be so quick to cry when faced with anger…Falling, most likely because he feared being hit.

“…Gerard, Dad said you…that you _might have_ gotten into a position for…you know…for sex.” He seemed to choke on the sentence and Gerard felt his face instantly beginning to burn with shame. “He wondered if you’d gone into a flashback…but you don’t remember…do you?” Gerard lowered his face and shook his head.

Sex…he’d offered his father sex in hopes that it would keep him from being beaten. He’d prepared himself for sex, and he didn’t remember anything…

What if he offered Frank sex and did the same thing? What if they had the perfect night and he’d wake up and wonder what had happened? Frank would be devastated…

“Did that really happen?” Gerard asked quietly, almost as if questioning himself.

“Mom says so, too…” Mikey mumbled, looking down at the floor. “Are you okay?”

“I’m really…That makes me feel really bad,” Gerard muttered. “Dad must be… _repulsed_ right now.”

“No,” Mikey said quietly. “He’s actually kind of—yeah, no…he cried. He thought he like… _broke_ you or something. Like, he thought you’d relapsed and weren’t going to get better.” Gerard stayed quiet, first wondering if Mikey was telling the truth and then feeling worse because he thought for sure that he was. Dad had been so upset that he’d cried…Mom probably cried, too, and even Mikey looked sad. “Why did you tell him you’d lied?”  
“I was gonna bribe him, say that I would tell Dr. Caroza ‘the truth’ if he would let me go see you and Frank play…” He glanced up in time to see Mikey bite into his lower lip, obviously feeling guilty. “But…but I haven’t really been telling her lies. I’ve just been holding some things back.”

“Like…what things? Bad things?” Mikey came closer to the bed, asking permission with his eyes before sitting down on the bed. Gerard was glad to have someone close to lean on.

“Things about my master, mostly…and some things that I did that I feel guilty about. Things I wasn’t ready to talk about.”

“Do you think you’re ready now?” Mikey asked almost cautiously. Gerard shrugged and then sighed heavily. “Don’t…don’t make yourself suffer just to see a few wannabe-rock-stars play guitar. I’m not that good—I actually suck. I’m _terrible._ You’ll just go deaf…”

“I don’t care,” Gerard mumbled. “I wanna hear you play. I don’t care if I have to…have to sleep with Dad to get him to let me.”

“Do not _ever_ say that,” Mikey spat firmly, making sure Gerard met his eyes as he said it. Gerard sighed again and looked away. “ _Ever_ , Gerard. Our dad would never do that—and if you offer it, it’ll kill him. He’s already upset.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Gerard mumbled. “I just want to hear you play…”

“Well…maybe we should wait a while. Maybe Frank and I should get together and work on a song so we _have_ something to play.”

“Sounds…good,” Gerard muttered. 

“And during that time, you can come up with some _other_ way to get Mom and Dad to…Gerard?”

“Hm?”

“Gerard, do you…write anymore?” Gerard stammered a few times and then fell off of the bed in a strange attempt to find his legs to run. He wanted to shout out ‘no’ and scream and flee, but he didn’t want to lie…lying got him punished—not necessarily by Mikey, but he didn’t want to form a habit…

Write…did he write anymore? Well…yeah. In a certain notebook that no one was supposed to ever see…


	14. Through You

Gerard looked over the songs he had scribbled in his notebook—all fragmented and incomplete—and knew there was no way he was showing them to anyone. He’d end up with another therapist or in an institute. No one would understand them, they’d take all of the words too seriously and fail to see the metaphors…

And what would Dad say? He was already acting strange after the episode in the kitchen that Gerard still couldn’t remember even faintly…

And Frank…who hadn’t been over in a week, but was apparently meeting with Mikey to write music every other night…

He felt for sure that Mikey would understand the words he wrote, but no one listened to Mikey. They’d say he was just trying to protect Gerard, and that he was doing more harm than help…

Tossing the notebook aside, Gerard curled up in his bed and pulled the blankets over his head. He forgot to turn the light off, but he was feeling too lazy to get up and do so…it was okay, though. The light kept the nightmares at bay. For some strange reason, they seemed to emerge whenever someone shut the light off for him after he went to sleep with the light on—so he told them to stop doing it.

They listened. 

Being buried in his blankets was one of his few comforts in life—the others being the understanding and compassion he got from Mikey and the love he got from Frank. He just felt safe and sheltered. No one could hurt him there…all of the pain that befell him happened on top of the sheets. (At least as far as beds were concerned.)

More and more often, he was forcing himself to recall events that had taken place in his masters’ houses. Remembering his trainer’s abuse always left him weeping, but no longer completely desperate for someone’s presence to remind him that he was safe at home and out of that man’s clutches. It was hard to think about the beatings and utter humiliation of being touched by such an evil man…being touched by someone who would never love him. 

Thinking about his second master wasn’t always so hard. The man was typically gentle with him, and if he ever was rough it was because he was administering punishment. It took a lot of work to even begin to consider that such punishments were undeserved. Deep in his heart he was still wholly convinced that every slap, every punch, every beating with an object was entirely his own fault and that he deserved every blow. 

He wanted to ask Frank what he thought…but he already knew what Frank would say.

_“Gerard, you didn’t deserve that. No one should hurt you—they shouldn’t hit you.”_

He missed Frank…he wanted him to start coming over again. Life was lonely here. He still wasn’t supposed to go out in public a lot since his master was still at large and could possibly spot him…not that his master would approach him or try to talk to him if he did see him. 

Maybe what the cops were all afraid of was that he would see his master and run to him and beg to be taken back…

Sighing, Gerard realized they might be right to believe that. There were days when he was so wounded by what was happening in his house that he wanted to leave and hide in his master’s care—a place so simple and natural for him. Get up, have sex, clean the house, make dinner, have sex, go to bed. It was easy…perfect. Not like at home where everything was screwy—get up, eat breakfast, watch Mikey leave for school, watch his parents leave for work, wander aimlessly through the house…have Mikey home for lunch, be alone again, have his parents come home, have Mikey home…dinner, free time, bed…

Gerard wondered if he was just lonely…

After all, he had two friends—Mikey and Frank…and Mikey needed to study for exams and Frank didn’t come over anymore.

Gerard started to whimper as he pulled his blankets tighter around himself. He wanted Frank…He _needed_ Frank. It was hurtful that he hadn’t come around since he’d hit him—it had only been an accident and he felt bad about it. When was the punishment going to end?

What if Frank never came over again? Maybe Mikey was lying about practicing guitar and was really over at Frank’s trying to convince him to come back and Frank really didn’t want to?

He wanted to know what Frank was doing…what Frank was thinking and feeling… He wanted to _know._

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank woke up from an unintentional nap on the couch at two in the morning to someone banging on his apartment door. He jumped to his feet and felt his pulse quickening, wondering who in his network of friends and acquaintances would come over at such a strange hour, and then fearing that it was a burglar or an irate murderer. 

Cautiously, he crept over to the door, the person knocking on it again loudly. 

“Wh-who is it?” He called, taking in a deep breath and trying to remind himself that no one in their right mind would rob someone on the third floor of an apartment building—there would be too many possible witnesses…

“Frank?” The person asked nervously, voice shaking. “ _Frank_ —Frank?” Frank became even more tense, but for a different reason. He knew that voice…and that voice did not belong outside of his door at two-twelve in the morning.

He sighed heavily and unlocked the door before pulling it open. It wasn’t even a second after the door left the frame that Gerard burst in and latched onto him, hugging him exceedingly tightly around the shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Gerard, what—” It was then that he noticed Gerard was both shaking and sobbing and he rethought his approach. He lifted his arms and hugged Gerard back gently, nuzzling his cheek. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” He asked quietly. Gerard only began to sob harder and held him tighter. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?” Gerard shook his head and pressed himself even closer. Frank would have thought this was just another desperate attempt to get attention—the tears and the shaking—but something about the way he seemed to flinch at every touch and sound told him otherwise. 

It was heartbreaking having to pry Gerard off of him in order to shut and relock the door.

“Can you tell me what happened, Babe?” Frank asked, leading Gerard over to the couch and letting the man practically crawl onto his lap when he sat down beside him—knees on either side of his hips, their chests touching. “You didn’t get in another fight with your Dad, did you?”

“I don’t like to walk outside when it’s dark,” Gerard cried, beginning to shake worse. “I really don’t—I really don’t, and I got lost.” He sobbed and buried his face in Frank’s shoulder again. “And some guy started following me a-and I didn’t think I’d make it here. I’m scared!” Frank held Gerard tightly, trying to ignore the fact that Gerard was nearly suffocating him. 

“It’s okay,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s back softly. “It’s okay—you made it here, you’re safe. No one’s got you—no one’s following you.” Gerard took in two breaths before breaking back down into sobs again, extracting every scrap of pity Frank had in his heart. He feared that something awful must have happened that made Gerard leave home in the middle of the night—especially since he feared the night because of what it had led to eight years before… “Gerard, shh—it’s okay.” Gerard’s grip on him loosened a bit, but he remained in a state of distress. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe. I’ve got you—no one’s going to hurt you.” Gerard sniffed and nuzzled Frank’s shoulder firmly, his tears beginning to slow.

“I got lost,” Gerard whimpered once again. Frank held him tight and lifted a hand to pet his hair. “I was so lost—I thought I was going to get taken again.” With that, the tears started again and Frank was at a loss for what to do besides hold him and breathe the same comforting words over and over. “I don’t want taken again, Frank—I can’t go back. I can’t do it all again! I’m scared—Frank, I’m _scared!_ ”

“I know, Honey,” Frank answered. “I know—they won’t take you again, sweetie. They won’t get you. You’re safe. Honey, you’re safe.” It took over thirty minutes to calm him down enough to get him to begin to relax—and then all he wanted was to go to bed. He wanted to lie in Frank’s bed, and Frank was more than willing to let him.

It was a sad thing to see—Gerard surrounding himself with blankets and disappearing in the fabrics because the world outside had him terrified.

He slid away from the door to the bedroom and went to his kitchen where the landline phone was. He knew that the he would rather call Mikey and tell him that he’d found Gerard, but the responsible thing was to call his parents and let them know that he had their son. Telling Mikey would just put him in the line of fire—and Mikey didn’t need to get into any more trouble. 

“Hello?” It was Gerard’s dad’s voice on the other end of the phone, clogged with sleep which indicated that he hadn’t realized his son was missing yet.

“Uh—yeah, h-hi. This is, uh, this is Frank,” Frank stammered out dumbly, feeling like an idiot but unable to keep from getting nervous when he spoke to the man.

“ _Frank?_ Look, do you know what time this is?”

“Gerard’s at my apartment,” Frank said, not responding to the tone because saying ‘I know it’s late’ was going to become irrelevant.

“He’s what?”

“At…at my apartment—I woke up and he was at my door,” Frank explained, hearing Mr. Way’s complete disbelief in unison with his heavy footsteps down two flights of stairs into the basement. He heard the man curse as he found his son’s bed empty.

“Why is he in your apartment?” The man asked, almost bitterly. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s sleeping…or at least trying to. He got scared walking here—he got lost and someone was following him for a while—so he hasn’t been able to tell me why he came, he’s just here.” On the other end of the line there was only silence. “I know it’s not my business, but did something happen? I just…I just think I could handle this better if I knew what made him come here. Was there a fight?”

“No,” Mr. Way answered almost instantly. “No, nothing happened. There wasn’t even an argument today.” Frank became just as confused as Gerard’s father sounded… Nothing seemed to have happened, so why did Gerard chance sneaking out in the middle of the night to come visit him? “Nothing recently, not after what happened last week—which I’m sure Mikey told you all about.” Yes, Mikey had told him about Gerard’s fit of amnesia after getting yelled at… “You said he went to sleep?”

“Uh—trying to,” Frank mumbled, peeking his head out of the kitchen and trying to catch a glimpse of Gerard in the bedroom. He was still buried under the sheets.

“Fine. Just…just bring him home before you go to work, or if you don’t work, have him home at least for dinner. Maybe the change of scenery will do him some good.” Frank was halfway frozen, so amazed that this man had allowed him to keep Gerard overnight. “And if he really won’t come home—if he fights you—I guess he could stay tomorrow night too, but I really don’t want that to happen so try to talk him out of it. He’s my son before he’s your boyfriend.” Frank was about to speak when the line went dead after a loud click. He’d been hung up on.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank woke up a second time on his couch, but this time to something so pleasurable he knew it wasn’t right—an intense heat surrounding his cock and something slowly running along the underside of it. 

Frank’s eyes shot open in time to watch Gerard take his entire length into his mouth, and caught Gerard’s gaze when he was unable to retain the half-stifled moan of pleasure. This was the second time that Gerard had taken advantage of him like this…

“Gerard,” he choked out, catching malevolent glimmer in the man’s eyes. “Gerard, p-please—stop.” Almost spitefully, Gerard slowly pulled his head back, letting Frank’s cock out of his mouth slowly before grabbing it with his hand and licking the tip gently while fisting the base. “Gerard,” Frank moaned, trying to keep his senses about him but losing them over and over. What a way to wake up—someone sexy sucking him and knowing that he had to make him stop.

“What’s the matter, _Sugar?_ ” Gerard drawled, keeping eye contact as he flirtatiously blinked his newly-lined eyes and kissed the tip before licking it again, beginning to pump him a little faster with his hand. Frank whimpered softly, not knowing if he could control himself, but needing to.

“Y-you have to stop!” Frank choked. “You have to—please, _stop._ ”

“Why? Am I not good?” Gerard winked and ran the tip along his pouty lower lip, covering it in a sheen of pre-come. Frank moaned and threw his head back against the couch. 

“Gerard, why are you doing this?” He was able to moan out, one of the last coherent thoughts in his head. Suddenly, Gerard became very clumsy with his hand and pulled his mouth away.

“So…so maybe you’ll…you’ll do something for me?” He said, like a suggestion—a desperate hope. Frank sighed, sitting up and finally capable of pushing Gerard’s hand away because the touch was no longer so overwhelmingly erotic. “Please don’t be mad, Frank!” Gerard cried, acting more like himself and less like his seductive alter-ego. “Please, I just really want to…I haven’t for so long and I _need_ to!”

“Gerard…if we do this,” Frank paused to sigh heavily, ruing already what he was about to say and thinking of a million reasons why he shouldn’t say it. “If we do this, you can’t…you can’t—just promise me you won’t try to use it against me. You’ve got so many other things you can hurt me with—don’t use this as one.”

“Never,” Gerard stammered, lined eyes lighting up and a smile stealing his lips. “Never, I promise. _I mean it_. I love you so much, Frank—I don’t want to hurt you…I still feel bad for hitting you that day—I wanted to call to apologize again, but Mikey wouldn’t let me and—” Frank did the cliché thing and silenced him with a kiss, sucking on Gerard’s lower lip and taking in his quiet moan.

He was worried about how Gerard would handle it, afraid that he would be too submissive—almost to an extent that he was inanimate…unresponsive. 

As he stood from the couch and led Gerard to the bedroom, stopping every two steps or so to give him another kiss, he was afraid that he would somehow hurt Gerard and leave him crying brokenly and begging for forgiveness from his master… 

Gerard was just too willing and eager to drop onto the bed and lay on his back with his legs open, waiting for Frank to crawl in between them.

“I love you, Beautiful,” Frank whispered into Gerard’s ear after he’d crept, still fully clothed, up his body between his open and expecting legs. He kissed Gerard’s cheek and then the corner of his mouth, waiting for Gerard to make a move to kiss him, and parting his lips when he finally did—so shy for someone so desperate.

“D-do you mean it?” Gerard asked after breaking the kiss by turning his face away, panting softly. Frank didn’t answer until he could see Gerard’s eyes looking back into his.

“Yes, I do.” Gerard started to blush, or so it looked, until he started to cry. “Oh, Sweetheart, don’t cry.” Frank sighed and buried his head in Gerard’s shoulder, listening to the gentle sobs and trying to figure out if they were tears of sadness, relief, worry, or joy. “It’s okay…don’t cry.”

“You mean it?” Gerard choked out, sniffing back more tears than he was letting fall.

“Yes,” Frank answered, lifting his head to offer Gerard a smile. In return, Gerard wrapped his arms around Frank’s shoulders and pulled him down so their bodies were flush against one another, wrapping his legs around Frank’s hips in a way that was somehow sexual and somehow innocent. 

“I love you, too,” Gerard practically cried, his lust seeming to have vanished for the moment. “I really do, Frank—you mean so much to me. You saved me and you love me and take care of me…I _need_ you…”

“I know,” Frank said back, pulling himself up a little against Gerard’s constricting grip and looking down at Gerard lovingly. “You stole my eyeliner,” he said teasingly, trying to make Gerard smile and poking the tip of his nose gently. Gerard looked like he was considering crying again, but smiled instead and leaned up to steal another kiss.

“I wanted to look good,” he mumbled after he laid back down against the bed.

“You already look good—without that stuff. And you know it, too,” he said, smiling gently and letting Gerard kiss him again.

“Did I kill it?” He asked quietly, looking away and letting his legs drop from Frank’s waist.

“Kill what?” Frank asked, tilting his head as he observed Gerard’s sadness.

“The…the mood. You don’t want to anymore.” Frank didn’t say anything. He trailed his hand up Gerard’s arm and entwined their fingers when he reached his hand.

“A little,” Frank said quietly. “But nothing a few minutes of play won’t fix.” He felt Gerard’s body immediately go tense at the word ‘play’ and inwardly cringed. “I mean—a few kisses here and…there.” He pulled his hand away from Gerard’s and ran it down Gerard’s chest and past the waistband of his pants. Gerard immediately thrust against his hand and gasped. 

Getting the idea to give Gerard a taste of his own medicine, Frank slid down Gerard’s body and slowly started undoing the button on his, Gerard’s, pants, giving the man time to swat his hands away or tell him to stop before really opening the fly or exposing him. “Has anyone ever done this for you before,” Frank asked, trying to behave in a more seductive manner, but almost too afraid to even rub the half-hard member through Gerard’s boxers after he tugged his jeans a little farther down and out of the way.

“D-done what?” Gerard asked, his eyes and voice both hazy. He looked like he was about to disconnect. 

“You know…” Frank said, forcing on some of the innocence that Gerard sometimes masqueraded before bending down and resting his head in the bend of Gerard’s inner thigh, his nose dangerously close to the slowly hardening member. 

Gerard let out a loud half-whimper, half-yelp and turned his face away violently, making Frank lift his head and dilute his strong approach.

“N-No,” Gerard whimpered out. “They’d never do that for a—”

“Shh,” Frank said, crawling up and putting his finger over Gerard’s lips quickly. “Are you willing to try?” Gerard looked at him nervously and then glanced away quickly, flustered. “You can say no…”

“I…I want to…I…” He was blushing so hard that Frank couldn’t believe he had enough blood to supply his extremities. “Okay…Just don’t…don’t bite me please—I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared, Sweetheart,” Frank said softly. “I won’t hurt you, and if you tell me to stop I will. You know I will.”

“Y-you don’t want to do this,” Gerard mumbled, looking away and closing his eyes tightly.

“Yes I do,” Frank said, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “Unless…unless you don’t want me to. I can see how you might be _shy_.” He said the words in a taunting way, leaning heavily on the fact that Gerard had sprung this same sort of sex on him without his actual consent twice. In a way he was scolding him, but without using any anger or firm words…

Gerard reacted how he’d hoped—he’d blushed and giggled.

“I want to try,” he said. “Master wanted it all the time—it’s good…right? Better than…normal sex?” Frank shrugged and kissed Gerard’s cheek before sliding back down his body and rubbing Gerard through his boxers firmly, making him gasp.

“Well, we’ll see,” Frank said, trying to swallow his nerves as he pulled the boxers away slowly and began stroking Gerard’s cock gently. Gerard closed his eyes and made a noise like he was in pain and fisted his hands in the blankets. “You okay?” Frank asked softly. Gerard nodded roughly. “Are you sure?” He asked, really concerned, but keeping the mood alive by adding a flirtatious tone.

“Yes,” Gerard whimpered, almost too quietly to hear. “Yes, please,” he moaned. Frank sighed and lowered his head, not wasting another second before running his tongue over the tip of Gerard’s cock and then putting the entire head in his mouth and sucking gently. 

To say Gerard screamed was an understatement—he practically shrieked and whimpered in the same breath, moaning deeply at its end and fisting both of his hands in the bed sheets.

Frank pulled back and Gerard whined.

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?” Frank asked nervously, kissing the corner of Gerard’s mouth after crawling back up his body and smoothing back his hair. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Gerard panted. “Please—more! Wait, I mean…I mean, yes—more. I-I can take more if you want…want to do more— _oh!_ ” He was whimpering by that point, obviously confused as to how to answer—instincts telling him to beg until the pleasure came back and his training telling him ask permission to ask for more.

Frank, now understanding that screaming was Gerard’s way of saying ‘I like that’, lowered his head again and took the length into his mouth, running his tongue along the underside in the same manner that Gerard had and flinching each time he heard Gerard cry out in what sounded like pain but could only be pleasure. Twice he’d even drawled out ‘ow’ in a scream as if he was being sliced open or some equally drawn out and torturous act. What must’ve happened to him to make the sound of sex mirror the sound of pain…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was in ecstasy, unable to believe the amazing things that were all happening to him. Frank had forgiven him, Frank was _pleasuring_ him…it was so strange, nothing like this had ever happened to him before. No one ever loved him enough to degrade themselves enough to actually _suck_ him.

The sensation was so fantastic—so indescribable. It was no wonder his masters had wanted this so much. It felt so amazing—so warm, so wet, so… _good_. 

He was afraid it might make him come—he hadn’t asked if he could, and he didn’t want to yet. He wanted to wait until Frank was inside of him, until Frank was using him the way he was used to and longed for. 

But thinking about it made the impending orgasm seem even closer—his body reacting to just the _idea_ of being penetrated, fucked, and made to come before he could ask permission and then— _ah_ —punished for disobeying. Beaten so erotically…

Moaning, he fisted his hands in the sheets again and spread his legs wider, constricted by his still-present boxers and still-present jeans.

“F-Frank?” He choked out, trying not to scream again. Frank looked up at him, still bobbing his head and swirling his tongue over the tip—still making Gerard think he was going insane. “Frank—please. I-I want you t-to stop,” he whined. Frank looked at him nervously and dropped him from his mouth instantly. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he muttered, so sweetly, so lovingly—Gerard just wanted to hug him and cuddle him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“M-More,” Gerard moaned daringly. Almost expecting to have his mouth smacked—three times in a row before getting screamed at…like his master always did if he spoke out during sex. Even though he was feeling overwhelmingly aroused, he felt himself begin to go limp at the harsh memory.

“More?” Frank asked. 

“More,” Gerard repeated. “Please—please inside me. _Please._ Frank, I really want it—I’ll do anything you say. I need it. Please—I really want to. I’ll do anything—just, just please.” He knew he was begging and that he wasn’t allowed to beg, but he wanted it so badly and he knew that if he pushed Frank hard enough he’d give him what he needed. “I love you, please. _Please._ I’m ready for it—I can handle it. Please.”

“Shh,” Frank said, pulling back a little and sitting up on the bed. For a moment, Gerard was afraid that Frank was going to leave him—lying painfully hard on the bed with no means of release since he wasn’t allowed to touch himself—but he only crawled over to the nightstand. His motions attracted Gerard’s interest, and he watched him as he opened the drawer and pulled out an unopened bottle of lubricant (Gerard’s heart almost stopped when he saw it was the same brand that his master used) and an equally unused box of condoms. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank noticed the look Gerard was giving the lubricant and wondered if he even knew what it was…he _should_ , but that didn’t explain why he looked like he was afraid of it. 

“I don’t want that,” Gerard stated, pushing the bottle out of Frank’s hand and onto the floor.

“Well, we’re using it,” Frank answered, trying to sound firm but not yelling at him because he didn’t want Gerard to end up shutting down and submitting to touches he no longer felt or lusted for. He leaned over the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle and half expecting Gerard to push him off the bed as he was in his vulnerable state. 

“It burns though,” Gerard mumbled. “I can take it dry…it won’t hurt me.”

“ _Yes,_ Gerard, it will. And it doesn’t burn…I use this myself when…when I’m with people.” Gerard made an unhappy sound but slipped off his pants and boxers himself. 

“I just don’t want to use it…”

“Well, we’re going to, or we’re not doing it.” Gerard made a loud noise and rolled over so he was on all fours, his body automatically posed in a seductive way but his head turned to look at Frank. He communicated so much with just his eyes. He pleaded for sex, he desired attention, he worried that Frank was going to refuse him… “You going to let me?” Frank asked. Gerard looked away and then nodded. “Good,” he mumbled back before fighting to find a place on Gerard’s face to kiss that wasn’t buried in the pillow. His efforts just made Gerard laugh—it wasn’t an unwelcome response. It made it at least seem that Gerard was happy.

“Frank, you really don’t have to prep me,” Gerard seemed to purr. Frank sighed and poured some of the lube onto his fingers, despite Gerard’s repetitive mumbles of protest. He began to question whether or not he should even keep going—even let this happen between them—but when Gerard looked at him as if he’d somehow read his mind and his eyes started to look almost instantly bleary, Frank forced himself to continue. 

If he came this far and then turned Gerard down, it would crush the man. He’d take it so personally…probably even say that Frank noticed that something about the intimate parts of his body wasn’t up to par. Maybe say Frank realized that he was too good to sleep with a whore.

However, Frank came to second guess himself again when, after pressing one slick finger against Gerard’s opening, he received a sudden, choked whimper. 

“Gerard?” The other man just shook his head and buried it farther into the pillow. Frank pulled his finger away and listened to Gerard’s discontented sigh at the loss. “Gerard, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Gerard answered quickly, shifting a little on the bed, widening his legs and arching his back a little more. “It was just—um…cold.” Frank didn’t believe the lie, but he let it pass even though he felt he shouldn’t and pressed the finger against Gerard once again, this time with no response. 

He felt Gerard’s muscles tighten around his finger as he slowly pushed it inside, considering too much what he was doing and feeling very close to being repulsed with himself for touching Gerard this way.

But he stayed, pressing his finger in farther and listening to Gerard’s heavy breaths and then his almost arousing grunt as he pushed a second finger inside. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Frank asked as Gerard’s shoulders began to shake, his face still pressed into the pillow so Frank couldn’t see if it was just strange breaths or tears. Gerard just shifted his head on the pillow and dipped his back a little more as if that was somehow a response. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard hated himself for feeling so conflicted. He was finally getting what he’d wanted from Frank for so long and he was scared to death. Frank was actually fingering him, and he was _terrified_ …not aroused. He didn’t know why, but he kept expecting Frank to dig his nails in and scrape him until he bled…still expected pain with each gentle thrust.

To say he didn’t trust Frank was a lie—he did, with every part of his soul…or at least he _thought_ he did. After all, if Frank _wanted_ to hurt him, he’d allow it readily he loved him so much…but he had to admit to himself that, deep inside, he didn’t want Frank to be like his masters.

He didn’t know of love from anyone but a master…he wanted to know what it felt like with a lover. He wanted to lose _that_ virginity…the willing one…and not be rewarded for his bravery with pain.

But he _deserved_ pain…

Slowly, quietly, he began to cry into the pillow, praying Frank wouldn’t notice. 

As the third finger was pushed inside, he lost his composure and sobbed. The stretching and the burn weren’t welcome, even though this was Frank. It was, he realized, the worst feeling in his life—worse than being bound and tortured and knowing that there was no escape.

He’d seduced Frank, got what he wanted, and realized he didn’t want it and couldn’t handle it. He was too damaged. He was ruined. He was worthless…

Frank could never get pleasure from him, and he could never deserve what Frank was offering.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Frank asked immediately, sounding so genuinely concerned and loving. “Sweetheart?” He removed the fingers slowly and Gerard dropped his thighs instantly, taking back his offering and feeling the guilt and shame steadily mounting. He sobbed hard and tried to smother the sounds into the pillow, making it hard for him to breathe. “ _Gerard?_ ” So much concern and love that he didn’t deserve. “Gerard, please, what’s wrong?” Frank ran a warm hand down his shoulder and rubbed his back gently. “Come on, Gerard, _please_ talk to me.” Gerard turned his face away from the pillow, choking on the breath of air he could finally take in, and sobbed one last time before forming words.

“I just can’t, Frank—and I’m sorry. I just can’t. I can’t—I can’t.” He caught Frank’s eyes and scanned them for warmth or affection—he found both, mixed with worry and sadness. He didn’t look angry. Frank didn’t look angry…Master doesn’t look angry.

“It’s okay,” Frank insisted, rubbing Gerard’s back again and making him sob gently before turning back to the pillow. “It’s fine, Gerard. We can wait ‘til you’re ready—I’m not going to make you do it.”

“But I _want_ you to,” Gerard called out, lifting his face from the pillow and surprising himself with the words. Frank seemed taken aback by them, too. He pulled away and little and his mouth was hanging slightly open.

“Ge...Gerard that’s—no.” Frank looked away from him and Gerard forced himself to sit up and wipe the disgusting tears off of his face. “Here,” he said, grabbing the sheets on the bed and draping them around Gerard’s shoulders so that they pooled in his lap and concealed him. “Now just relax for a minute—take some breaths…”

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank didn’t know what to do with him. Gerard appeared broken, only capable of crying, wiping his tears away, and internally cursing himself to the extent that it made him cry more. Nothing he said to him comforted him. There was nothing hysterical about his sobs, most were becoming quiet and soft, but there was a sense of urgency gripping at Frank’s chest that he didn’t understand—like something more was happening than a loss of courage or a change of heart.

“Gerard?” Gerard shook his head in response and lowered it so Frank couldn’t see his face. “Come on, Sweetheart…you don’t need to cry—there’s nothing to feel bad about.”

“Frank…” Gerard whimpered, suddenly pulling the blankets around himself tighter. 

“What, Sweetie?” Frank asked, trying to meet Gerard’s eyes. 

“Frank…Does Mikey really come over and play guitar or is he lying?” Gerard stared at the blankets before folding himself into them and falling onto his side. 

“He doesn’t…doesn’t come here to play. We play at Ray’s house. You think he’d lie to you?” Gerard didn’t answer, just held the blankets to himself tightly. “We’ve got something…but we could use some lyrics.”

“I only write shit,” Gerard spat. 

“Can I be the judge of that?” Frank asked, laying down beside Gerard and petting the small patch of his hair that was visible.

“ _No,_ ” Gerard said back. 

“What if I beg?” Frank pressed, taking the focus off of the failed attempt at sex.

“Still no.”

“What if I—”

“ _No!_ ”

“Aw…but I want to hear you sing…”

“Si—what?” Gerard sat up abruptly. “You only said write—no one said shit to me about singing! I can’t sing—I don’t! I won’t! Frankie, don’t make me.” Gerard grimaced as if in pain and looked at Frank nervously.

“I bet you’d be good at singing, but you know I won’t make you,” Frank said reassuringly, kissing Gerard gently on the lips. Gerard sighed and lowered his eyes to the bed. “I just wish you would show me some of the things you wrote…”

“But they’re personal,” Gerard mumbled. “Private things…and I don’t think you’ll understand them.”

“Well, give me a sample,” Frank stated, pursing his lips a little. “Just one line that you remember and I’ll tell you what I get out of it.” Gerard sighed heavily and looked around the room.

“ _Do you want to hold my hand? Could you sign this photograph? Because I’m your biggest fan, but you would leave me lying here…_ Or something like that…” Gerard picked at the blankets as he recited it and looked close to tears as he finished. Frank couldn’t tell if it was because he was feeling ashamed of what he was saying or if he was just exposed. “It’s…it’s a work in progress. I don’t really like it that much. I mean—it’s not that good.”

“I think it is,” Frank said, taking in the words and comparing them with Gerard’s dejected expression. “Gerard, it’s really deep.” Gerard exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes.

“That’s what everybody fuckin’ says. ‘oh, that’s so deep’—yeah, deep _shit_.”

“Gerard…it’s—”

“It’s not about you, you know,” he said almost bitterly. “I didn’t write it about you leaving me. It’s not your song.” The way he’d said it made Frank believe that he did have a song, something written by Gerard that was about…him. Why did that surprise him? 

“I…I have a song?” Frank asked, laughing softly to disguise his embarrassment. Gerard nodded, almost looking more confident now that Frank had lost his cool.

“You have…a few,” Gerard said shyly. “Well, _lines_ not really songs. I don’t really have many _song_ songs…just parts of them I guess…”

“Am I allowed to hear them?” Frank asked, feeling a little eager and almost daring to get pushy. “What are they—h-how do they go?” Gerard bit his lower lip bashfully but looked at Frank almost happily, as if he was excited that someone was interested in his writing…as if the fact that someone was curious about it was news to him.

Like he hadn’t been the one holding the words back.

“Well…they’re not really…really good.”

“Stop being modest,” Frank pushed, leaning over and putting his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “I wanna know.”

Shyly, Gerard began to share the short lines and phrases he’d drafted, constantly saying they were no good even though their intensity left Frank nearly breathless. Not every line was genius, but they all seemed to have potential. 

Somewhere in between a line about wanting to know the name of the person he wanted to have kill him, and a phrase about finding a place to run away and hide, Frank fell even more in love. 

The surface was being scratched and some of the Gerard underneath the shackled slave was finally being shown. The thoughts he wasn’t showing anyone else were proving him to be a fully aware human being—he felt everything around him and reacted just how everyone else should, he just hid most of what he was feeling behind the mask his trainer had given him.

“You…do you really think my writing is that good, Frank?” Gerard asked nervously. “You seem kinda…kinda…post-orgasmic. You know, all…blown away.” He giggled in a strange way and laid back down on the bed. Frank smiled and curled beside him, getting as close to him as possible and hold this spectacular, self-conscious, adorable mother-fucker tight.

“You’re really great, Gerard. I just wish you could see it.” Frank snuggled close and closed his eyes, not wanting to sleep but feeling drained as soon as the motion was complete. It was just so comforting to lie next to someone…

“I feel…I feel strange.”

“Strange?” Frank asked sleepily, cuddling a little closer and sighing. 

“Like…like this isn’t really happening. I used to dream of going home sometimes, but I never dreamt I’d be able to have all of this, too.”

“All of what, Sweetheart?” Frank asked, forcing himself to reopen his eyes.

“Love…” Gerard said softly before slipping his arms around Frank’s body slowly. “Someone to love me…without having to fuck me first.” Frank couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just pressed his chest against Gerard’s a little more and sighed. “Frank, when did you first start to love me?”

“Hmm…when I saw you on that stage…the first time I touched you—I wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want you to have to hurt or be scared…then you kept kissing me and…and it just went on from there. God…and you’re so fucking cute.” Gerard giggled and nuzzled Frank’s hair.

“I love you, too, Frankie,” Gerard said with a content sigh. “You’re so…wonderful. How can you listen all night long?” 

“Night long?” Frank repeated, half-conscious. All of a sudden, Gerard was out of bed and Frank sat up. What had he done? He feared that he’d said something that had upset him…somehow. “Gerard? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Paper!” The other man spat out. “I just thought of something—I need paper. Why is there no paper in your house, Frankie? I don’t like it.” Gerard disappeared from the room and after several bangs of closing drawers and cupboard doors, he returned with a pen and a piece of paper. “It’s…It’s a good song—I think. People will like it…”

Frank watched his through eyes that kept closing.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to inspire him to follow his dreams just as they were getting ready to sleep…it left him with no one to cuddle.


	15. A Love that's So Demanding

Frank was being driven on, mostly by the intense heat and pressure surrounding his dick, but also by Gerard’s pleasing little grunts and moans. The man had agreed to let Frank fuck him—hard and dry—and Gerard was just loving it. 

“Frank,” Gerard moaned out. In response, Frank quickened his thrusts, feeling himself getting close to that moment of release. “Ah—Frankie, please.”

“Fuck, you feel good,” Frank moaned, moving even faster and feeling the friction lessen as Gerard began to bleed—lubricating everything in an almost natural way.

“Ah—Frank, you need to stop. I want you to stop!” Gerard cried out. Frank ignored him, he pinned the man’s wrists above his head on the mattress and fucked him harder. He was so close, there was no way he was letting Gerard ruin this.

“Almost there, Baby, just hang on a minute,” Frank practically hissed, using Gerard’s body how he liked and relishing the loud whimpers that followed each thrust.

“Frankie, please!” Gerard sobbed, tears running down his face and making his eyeliner run even more. He looked desperate and helpless—Frank fucking loved it.

“Come on—I’m almost there, you whore!”

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank literally sat up in bed gasping. It took him several seconds to gather his senses, but when he did he instantly looked beside him on the bed—searching for Gerard.

He wasn’t there.

“Shit,” Frank panted, sliding out of bed quickly and staggering across the room on sleep-drenched legs.

_The bathroom,_ he thought. But the bathroom was empty.

“Gerard?” Frank called, probably more loudly than he should have. He started for the kitchen and heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the fridge door slam and finally caught sight of the man he’d dreamt that he’d raped.

“Am I…not supposed to eat these?” Gerard asked nervously, holding tight to a bag of unopened grapes. “I’m sorry…I just got hungry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Frank said, stepping into the kitchen and smiling at the timid-looking man. “Have as much as you want, Sweetheart—and if you want, I could make you something or go get you something.” Gerard giggled bashfully and looked at the floor—obviously flattered that someone thought enough of him to offer to make him an early-morning snack…it was going on five a.m.

“No,” he said, still smiling and looking at the floor giddily. “These are okay.” He finally looked up, his eyes showing joy and warmth. It was rare to see such a deep happiness in them—especially since Frank’s first memory of him was with eyes full of loathing and distress. “Why are you…staring at me like that, Frank?” Gerard asked suddenly, his eyes going from happy to anxious. It was as if he could see Frank’s nightmare playing out on the panes of his eyes. 

He suddenly looked scared.

“I had a really bad dream,” Frank confessed, not sure if he wanted to tell Gerard what it was about, but knowing better than to try to lie to him about it.

“About…about me?” Frank nodded and glanced at the floor. Gerard shifted the bag in his hands and bit his lower lip. “Did I…do something bad in the dream? Something you think I’d be…um…cap-capable of?” Frank immediately shook his head.

“No—no, God no. It wasn’t _you_ …it was me. I did something bad to you in the dream.” He looked up to catch Gerard’s face as it changed from nervous to curious…to sly.

“Aw, Frankie, did you have a sex dream about me?” He slid past Frank as he said it, deliberately clipping his shoulder and opening the bag of grapes slowly. “Your silence tells me _you did_ ,” he added in a sing-song voice.

“It—Gerard, it wasn’t a _good_ dream,” Frank insisted, following him as he headed for the living room couch. Gerard sat down and instantly pursed his lips.

“So Dream Me is bad in bed—is that what you’re saying then?” His mood swings…Frank had to remind himself that one of the reasons he loved this man so much was because of his mood swings.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Frank muttered as he approached the couch and dropped onto it. He tried not to watch Gerard’s hand as he pulled one of the grapes off of the stem and popped it into his mouth, not forgetting to show his tongue as it cradled the fruit. 

“Then what?” Gerard pressed with little urgency, biting the purple grape so that some of the juice ran over his lip when he spoke…then he had the nerve to pretend it was an accident…wiping his lip slowly with the tip of his middle finger… 

“Dreamt I raped you,” Frank said, mesmerized by those soft-looking pink lips. Instantly, Gerard’s provocative antics disappeared and he crossed his legs tightly—sending the message that his ass wasn’t up for grabs at the moment. 

“Wh…why?” Gerard asked, looking at Frank nervously and almost beginning to cower. “Did I upset you? I-in the dream I mean…um…did I…Frank, did I do something to make you mad?” It seemed as though Gerard had somehow come to believe that ‘I dreamt’ meant ‘I want to.’

“Gerard, it was just a dream,” Frank said quietly. “A nightmare actually—Gerard, it was awful. You know I’d never do that.” Gerard looked towards the television and pushed several grapes into his mouth quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you—I don’t want to be that person that helped you just to fuck you up again.”

“So you’re saying I was fucked up?” Gerard spat with more than a little resentment.

“You cried every day…”

“That’s not my fucking fault!” Gerard snapped. “It’s not my fault, okay!? I was scared!”

“I know, Gerard!” Frank called out in defense. “I know!—and I felt _bad_ for you! That’s why it upset me that I dreamt what I did! I don’t want to be the person who makes you look like that again!”

“Like what?” There was still anger in his tone, but it almost sounded forced. 

“Like the world’s going to end…like you’d never _seen_ happiness.” Gerard sighed and looked down at the bag of grapes in his hands. “I don’t want to be the person who hurts you…I love you.” Gerard bit his lips as Frank said it and looked away from him quickly. His eyes were blinking rapidly, telling Frank that he’d successfully made Gerard start to cry.

“I love you, too,” Gerard practically whimpered, tears falling the instant he opened his mouth. Almost as if to cover it, he shoved a handful of grapes into his mouth, disregarding the stems and making Frank cringe…

This man…why did he love this man? Because he was just so fucking cute? Yeah…and sweet…

Gerard leaned his head over and put it on Frank’s shoulder, mindlessly pulling broken bits of grape-stem out of his mouth and setting them on his leg…

“I really love you,” he repeated after he’d picked out most of the stem and had swallowed. “God, I love you,” he said, turning his face to wipe his tears from his cheeks onto Frank’s skin. Frank put an arm around him and pulled him closer, hugging him and feeling his warmth. He didn’t want to ever let him go. 

“That’s means a lot,” Frank mumbled, resting his cheek against Gerard’s head as the man continued to nuzzle his shoulder. “It really does, Sweetheart.”

“And I’m happy you stopped when I asked you to,” Gerard randomly blurted, no doubt referencing their attempt at sex. “I was scared…”

“I know,” Frank said softly. “I’d never force you into that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I love you,” Gerard repeated, shifting slightly and making sure not to knock the stems he’d collected on his leg onto the floor as he pushed his head beneath Frank’s chin. “I want to live with you again…” Frank held Gerard tighter and sighed. To have Gerard stay with him again—it would be nice, but it probably wasn’t ever going to happen…

“You want to go back to bed, Babe? I kinda want to cuddle…you left me earlier to write that thing you won’t let me see…” Gerard made a loud groaning noise and buried his face in the crook of Frank’s neck, breathing on his skin and making his skin prickle. 

“But I don’t want to,” he moaned out, cuddling closer and apparently forgetting the stems on his leg because they fell to the floor.

“Don’t want to sleep, cuddle, or show me the song?” Frank asked, trying to squirm so Gerard’s breath wasn’t hitting the most sensitive flesh of his neck.

“Fuck,” Gerard muttered. Frank blinked and loosened his hold on him a bit.

“What?” Gerard leaned on him more heavily.

“ _Fuuuck._ ” It almost sounded like an exclamation of pain. 

“Sweetheart?” Frank let go of him and pushed him back a little in attempt to get a look at his face. He looked pale…paler than normal. “Gerard?”

“Frank, I don’t feel so good…” Gerard moaned out, leaning on him again heavily.

“Are you sick?” Frank stroked Gerard’s hair gently and felt the man’s body shift as he swallowed hard.

“Nauseous,” Gerard moaned, his head sliding down Frank’s chest and coming to rest on his stomach.

“Well, I love you, but don’t puke on me…” Gerard just grunted, and Frank began to rub his back slowly, feeling each of his uneven breaths and hard swallows.

“You poison me, Frankie?” Gerard asked in a pitiful voice.

“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t poison you,” Frank answered. “You gonna be okay?”

“No,” Gerard groaned, gagging before the word was even finished and making Frank lurch slightly. He didn’t have it in him to push Gerard off of him, but he didn’t want to sit there waiting to get thrown up on…

“Come on, stand up,” Frank said when the gagging began to become constant. “Come on, Gerard, we’re going to the bathroom.” He managed to get Gerard onto his feet, guiding him gently and not trying to rush him to the bathroom to assure there wouldn’t be a mess to clean up—still trying to remind himself that there were worse things than vomit and he needed to keep that in mind… 

They made it just in time—either that or Gerard quit holding back the instant the toilet was in sight.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard managed in between gags. “Frank, I’m sorry—ungh…”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Frank said as he sat down on the floor beside him. “It’s okay…”

“It’s disgusting,” Gerard moaned, gagging. 

“It’s fine, Gerard…”

“Who wants to cuddle someone who smells like puke?” He asked pathetically, swallowing hard and then standing up shakily. He flushed the toilet and immediately turned on the sink, cupping his hands to get water to wash the taste out of his mouth. “Master would put me in the basement for this,” he muttered after spitting.

“Well, your master’s not here…and I’m not going to lock you up somewhere for getting sick. That’s stupid.” Gerard sighed and wiped at his face with his hands once his mouth started tasting a little less bad. “Feeling any better?”

“Stomach fuckin’ hurts…”

“Aw…do you want to go cuddle?” Gerard rolled his eyes and tried to leave the bathroom, but Frank stood and blocked his way. 

“No one wants to cuddle with someone who just puked…come on, I’m going to sleep on the couch…”

“Just use some fuckin’ mouthwash,” Frank mumbled. “I want to fuckin’ cuddle with you…” He pursed his lips and leaned against the doorframe, giving Gerard a put-on puppy-dog look until the man caved and grabbed the bottle off of the counter.

“Fine…I’ll fuckin’ gag myself with mint.” He did gag when he started to rinse his mouth, but managed to keep everything left in his stomach down as he spat. It wasn’t Frank’s idea of the most romantic night, but there were worse things in the world than playing nurse for his a-fuckin’-dorable boyfriend.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard folded himself against Frank’s body, dreaming that he could give him his body without feeling afraid. Frank would never hurt him. Frank would never humiliate him or call him names… Frank would stop if he said it hurt…would hold him afterwards and kiss him and love him and give him everything he’d wanted for so, so long…

Frank could give him the world, but Gerard was too afraid to let him. 

Because…because what if Frank didn’t? What if Frank did hurt him? What if Frank called him names? What if he didn’t stop? What if he _made_ it hurt? What if he wouldn’t kiss, wouldn’t hold?...wouldn’t love.

What if Frank denied him the one thing he wanted? What if Frank…was lying?

Was…was unhappy with him.

Gerard wasn’t perfect, and Frank deserved someone perfect. Gerard wanted to be perfect, but there was no way for him to ever be flawless.

And who could love something flawed? 

“Sweetie, you need to go to sleep,” Frank mumbled softly. His eyes were still closed, vaguely highlighted by the faded morning glow. It was six a.m.

Gerard stiffened at his voice. How did Frank know he was awake? Until he’d spoken and demanded his attention, Gerard’s eyes had been closed. His breaths had been soft and even. He hadn’t shifted his body at all… Still, silent…but Frank knew he wasn’t asleep.

“What’s the matter?” Frank asked, eyes opening…tired, tranquil…loving. Gerard shook his head and cuddled closer, squirming enough so his head was beneath Frank’s chin. Frank didn’t push it. He just sighed and draped an arm over Gerard’s shoulder in an exhausted embrace. “You shouldn’t eat fruit without rinsing it,” he said, pretending like he believed that was truly the problem. “You know they’ve got pesticides on them…” Gerard wished he had the courage to tell Frank that it was the guilt and the shame and the nerves that left him nauseous and vomiting, not chemicals or poison…the guilt for failing to go through with his offering, the shame for laying with a man who wasn’t his master, and nerves...nerves that Frank wanted to leave him for it, but just didn’t have the courage to tell him yet.

He didn’t want Frank to leave him. He loved him, so much…so dearly. 

Love. He knew what love was now. 

He’d never felt towards his master what he felt towards Frank… A connection. Understanding. The desire to please him just to see him smile…

“I love you,” Frank mumbled, nuzzling the top of Gerard’s head. Gerard hummed softly in response and closed his eyes tightly. 

“I love you, too,” Gerard said back meekly. “Make love to me,” he whimpered. He felt Frank sigh and shivered. 

“You’re not ready for that, Honey,” Frank said quietly. “I’m not going to let you push yourself when you’re not ready. You’re worth more than sex, Beautiful…You’re worth more than the world, Gerard.”

“No,” Gerard answered, instantly blocking the words out. 

“Yeah,” Frank answered. “Sweetie, just living…just you living makes a lot of people very happy…” Gerard pulled away, wanting to look into Frank’s eyes to see why he was saying such…such kind things. Frank smiled at him lazily and then pulled him back. “I love you…you make me really happy.” Frank giggled and it spontaneously made Gerard nervous. “I’d rather have you than a puppy any day…”

( ) ( ) ( )

“I tried to have sex with Frank…” Donna Way couldn’t decide if she was glad Gerard was feeling comfortable enough with her to tell her such intimate things or if she wished he’d keep that private talk to himself… “I couldn’t do it.”

“You got…scared?” She asked, continuing to fold the laundry as if she didn’t have mixed feelings that told her to cover her ears and listen intently. 

“Yeah…” Gerard looked at the floor as if he was ashamed. “Frank stopped.”

“That’s good…Good that he, um, _listens_ to you.”

“He really loves me, Mom…” He didn’t say it with confidence. 

“Yes,” she said, dropping one of Gerard’s shirts into his laundry basket and thinking back to a time when she’d dreamed of the day he’d wash his own clothes…Now, she was glad to be seeing his brand-new, stained shirts, unexplainably ripped jeans… “I can tell that he does.”

“And…Mikey loves me.” She glanced at Gerard who was still looking at the floor. 

“ _Yes._ ” She wanted to touch him, to feel the shoulder of the child she’d thought for sure she’d lost forever, but she didn’t.

“And you do…”

“Very much,” she agreed, offering him a smile even though he didn’t look up.

“And…And Dad…Dad cares about me.”

“Your father loves you, Gerard.” She folded more of the clothes while Gerard stared at the floor. It seemed as if he was trying to ask her a question, but was conflicted about asking…or that he himself didn’t know what he wanted to ask.

“Dad… _cares_ …”

“Your dad _loves_ you, Gerard.” She watched Gerard’s shoulders drop and sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to tell Dad…what I did with Frank. He’ll get mad though.” Donna couldn’t say anything because she knew it was true. She could practically hear the argument. Her husband would blame Frank, Gerard would defend him, someone would yell…Gerard would cry.

“You want to tell him that—”

“That Frank…” Gerard sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “That Frank won’t…I want him to trust Frank—because I do. I love him and I want…you, Dad, and Mikey to, too.” As Gerard said it, she felt herself grow cold towards this other man—even if he was the one who brought her son back to her. 

Children, she knew, grew up, moved out, fell in love…moved on. She wasn’t ready for Gerard to move on yet, but she knew that that was what he was thinking. He loved Frank and she accepted that—there probably wasn’t a better person for him—but she wasn’t ready to let him go.

She’d lost eight years and she wanted them back. She didn’t want Frank to take him…

“I can understand that,” she answered quietly, “but do you think it’s a good idea to tell your father about…about what you and Frank tried to do? You know he’ll get upset.”

“Well…” Gerard looked at her and then immediately darted his eyes away. “Well...I’m an adult, and I love Frank…and—and I can make decisions for myself…” Donna sighed and ran out of clothes to fold, forcing her to face the issue without a single distraction. “I just want him to know that…that I can do these things, and that when I can’t Frank _listens_ to me. Master…Master never listened to me…”

Donna didn’t know how to respond—whether to affirm that Frank seemed like a nice boy, or argue that most _normal_ people were just as considerate to their lovers—so she kept quiet. 

“Mom, do you think Dad will…hit me for it?”

“No, Gerard. No one is going to hit you—especially not for that.” She looked at Gerard’s worried eyes and sighed. “But that doesn’t mean you _need_ to tell him. He’s not your master—you don’t have to tell him everything that you do. You’re allowed to have privacy. You’re twenty-three…” It was hard to confess that…confess that her son was so old and she barely knew him. “If you want to have sex with Frank…and you feel like you’re ready…” She took in a deep breath and rued the words before she even said them—not believing them, not accepting them, not wanting Gerard to listen to them—but wanting to comfort her son in any way possible. “And if you trust him and know that you two can be… _safe_ then you…then you should. You don’t have to ask our permission.”

“But I want Dad to know.” Donna sighed heavily and shook her head, not understanding why he was being so stubborn… Why he wanted to get himself into trouble. 

“ _Why?_ Do you want to make him angry?”

“I want him to _understand!_ ” Gerard pressed, not quite yelling but raising his voice in distress. “I want him to understand like you do! I want him to know that Frank is—is _my_ boyfriend, and that I can give him what he needs! I can give to Frank, and he can give to me—and…and we’re just like a normal couple.”

“So tell him that, Gerard,” she said, giving up. “I won’t stop you…”

( ) ( ) ( )

His father had yelled at him…and called him irresponsible. He threatened to call Frank, threatened to forbid him from coming over and ever seeing Gerard again…

He almost went through with everything, too, until Gerard said what he did.

“Fine, Dad. Take him away from me. Take everything I have…but when you wake up and find me missing and _no one_ knows where the fuck I am, and _no one_ sees me again, just remind yourself that it was your fault. Because if I stay here and I’m not allowed to have anyone to love me, I’m better off with my master, and I still know where he lives and I know he’ll take me back—even if just to sell me again.” He went to his room after that and hadn’t come back upstairs since.

Mikey checked periodically to make sure he hadn’t left, but each time he was met with Gerard’s sad gaze and mumbled words.

This time, all he had to say was, “I shouldn’t talk to them. They don’t understand me. Why should I talk to them?”

“Mom listens,” Mikey said quietly. “Dad just doesn’t…”

“Dad’s the only one who keeps making me feel like a whore…” Mikey didn’t respond, just leaned on the doorframe and sighed. “He does…always. He acts like I can’t think, you know? Like I don’t know how to think for myself, or like—like…”

“Gee, our dad is an idiot—you used to know that before. Can’t you try to remember that? You two never got along.”

“But I want to try to! I want to get along with my dad—I want…ugh—I want to move back in with Frank. I love Mom and Dad and I’m really happy to see everyone again—so fuckin’ happy to know my family is okay—but it’s just so _stressful_ here.”

“I know how you feel,” Mikey mumbled, trying not to take it personally that Gerard never really said he missed him or mentioned his name. “But it would really hurt them if you left, Gee.”

“I know,” Gerard grumbled. “But it’s like…it’s…ugh…” Gerard sighed and choked a few times as he wrestled the words he wanted to use. “Mom and Dad want their son back—their fifteen-year-old, crack-head, basement-dwelling son—the one that was too shy to talk to other people and too apathetic to fuckin’ want people over or to go out with friends…if I ever even fuckin’ had friends.” Gerard closed his eyes and shook his head. “They don’t want _me_ …they want their son, and he’s dead somewhere—probably tied to a support beam in a sadistic jackass’s basement.”

Mikey said nothing, just absorbed the words and saw them for what they were. The truth. The unavoidable truth. Gerard Arthur Way was dead…His brother was dead. This was the replacement—this was a stranger wearing the same skin. 

It didn’t matter, though. This was still his brother—he still loved him unconditionally. He’d still die for him or kill for him… If he ever got hold of the man—the _men_ —who did this to him, he would make them suffer. He would torture them until their hearts quit beating and then do whatever he could to disturb the mind that was still functioning for the few short minutes afterwards.

“I’m an adult, you know? I want a lover, and I want freedom…I don’t want to be a teenager again. It sucked…what I remember sucked. Dad hit me a lot…how long do you think it’s going to be before he starts doing it again?...I’m a bad person, I deserve to be hit—”

“ _Gerard._ ”

“—but I don’t like it. I don’t like getting hit, and Frank knows fuckin’ better than to hit me so I feel safer with him. I piss him off and he doesn’t even yell. I want to live with my boyfriend...” He paused for a long time. “…and I want you to move in with us and we’ll have like a…frat-house, family—fucked up party house or somethin’. It’d be _awesome_.”

“Mom would die a little, Gee,” Mikey said in a light tone. “We can’t leave her here alone with Dad…not yet, anyway. She isn’t prepared for that.”

“I know…”Gerard grumbled. “Frank wouldn’t talk to me about…about the guitar—how’s it coming? What you guys are working on… How’s Ray?”

“Yeah…why do I get the impression that he’s scared of you?” Mikey asked, not dodging the initial question, but entering the conversation at its easiest and lightest point.

“I dumped coffee on him…and I might have thrown him out of Frank’s apartment once because he insulted his cooking and no one talks to my master like that—because, uh, Frank was still like a master at that time…”

“Dumped coffee on him…I remember this story.”

“I’m a terrible person—I’m a bad, bad, bad, bad man…” For some reason, he didn’t sound very sorry. It made Mikey smile. “So…guitar playing? Good? Bad?” Gerard had pulled a sketchpad out of nowhere and had begun scribbling on it almost aimlessly—almost like he used to.

“It’s going okay. I actually think I’m getting better.”

“Is Frank any good?” Of course, Gerard had little interest in him or his progress—his soul belonged to Frank.

“He’s better than me, but Ray…Ray’s the best of us.”

“I don’t like that,” Gerard mumbled, focusing almost entirely on his sketchpad. 

“Gerard, do you just not like Ray because he teased Frank about his cooking?” Mikey asked. No answer. “Is it something else?”

“Just don’t…like him.” Too busy scratching away on his paper to answer fully.

“Because he takes Frank’s attention away from you?” Mikey expected to get yelled at or at least get a glare…anything to get Gerard’s attention off of that piece of paper.

“ _Yes_ , if you must know—you nosy bastard.”

“At least you admit it—what are you working on?”

“A sketch of you naked.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Fine, a sketch of _Mom_ naked.”

“If that’s true, that’s fuckin’ disgusting. Get out of this house.” Gerard giggled. “It’s of Frank again, isn’t it?” Mikey asked, trying not to sound disappointed. 

“Nah, it’s a horse with vampire fangs and a slobbery chin that kind of looks like a beard—here,” he tore the page from the book and got off of his bed to hand Mikey the sketch face down. “You can have it.”

“Thanks—I always wanted a fanged-bearded horse to call my own.” Gerard forced out part of a laugh and shouldered past him to go upstairs. Mikey followed him with his eyes and then glanced at the sketch lazily once he was gone.

It was of him. It was just a portrait, hard to tell if there were clothes on the body or not since it didn’t exist… The glasses he was wearing were messy, but an arrow leading from them had a note attached that read “and your glasses piss me off.” He reexamined the top of the page and found, written in tiny letters, “you never smile and it makes me sad.”

“Thanks for the insight,” Mikey mumbled to himself, starting up the stairs. He found Gerard in the kitchen, picking at something on the counter that they both knew he wasn’t going to eat. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was lying with his head on Frank’s chest—Frank lying with him in bed…Gerard’s bed. He wasn’t allowed to go to Frank’s home anymore, but Frank was allowed over at his. Probably only because Gerard’s dad could barge in any second that he wanted to make sure Gerard was being “responsible.”

“Frank…are you mad at me?” Gerard asked quietly. It was one of five sentences that he’d spoken since Frank had arrived.

“No,” Frank mumbled sleepily. “Why would I be mad, Babe?” He stroked Gerard’s hair gently and sighed. 

“My dad…he’s giving you a hard time because I told him about what I did.”

“ _We_ did…it wasn’t just you. And he’s just over reacting. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, well it makes me feel like a teenaged slut.” Gerard sighed and nuzzled Frank’s chest softly as Frank petted his hair more firmly. “I mean…He yelled at me. He kept saying that what I did was wrong and that I was really irresponsible…that I should know better.” Gerard sniffed and pressed his face against Frank’s chest more firmly. “He said he was disappointed in me. I’ve only been home a few months and I’m already a disappointment.”

“Sweetheart—”

“All the things you say to your daughter when you catch her with her boyfriend’s dick in her mouth…that’s what he said to me.” Gerard couldn’t help the tears that started to fall. “And I didn’t even go through with it!” He sobbed. “I guess I should have—so then I’d have a reason to feel so gross.”

“Gerard, don’t let it upset you so much,” Frank murmured, sitting up and letting Gerard’s head come to a rest in his lap. “Your dad is just worried.”

“I feel like a whore, Frank,” Gerard mumbled. “He always makes me feel like a whore…I should go suck him or something so he has a reason to hate me.”

“I’m starting to get the feeling that you like hurting your own feelings…You always say mean things about yourself. Have you been talking to your therapist?”

“She says I need to stop identifying with what I’ve done, put the past behind me, move on, become better…all that bullshit. It’s not like I don’t want to forget about that place and all the things that happened—I do—but I wanted you to help me and Dad won’t let that happen.”

“Sleeping with me isn’t going to make you forget being raped, Gerard.” Gerard sighed shakily and buried his face in Frank’s thigh. 

“But it’s…I feel like doing it can help me—” Gerard stopped speaking and stiffened as footsteps sounded on the stairs down to his room. “Fuck it. I am just a whore—thinking like this proves it.” His tears seemed to vanish as he pulled himself up and scooted away from Frank on the bed so that when his father stepped into the room he wouldn’t see them in an intimate pose.

“Gerard, don’t—”

“You should get home soon. It’s been three hours.” As his father spoke, Gerard’s shoulders drooped lower than what seemed possible. Shame registered in every angle of his body, resentment in every fold of his clothes, and sadness in every skin cell.

“Yeah,” Frank muttered back, keeping his eyes on Gerard.

“What’s the matter, Gerard?” His father asked. Gerard flinched.

“Get out,” he spat. 

“I don’t—”

“Get out!” He repeated, lifting his head and glaring at his father harshly. “It’s my fucking body, okay!? I didn’t go through with it! I’m not ready to and Frank won’t make me so would you just quit!? It’s my body…it’s finally my body. Let me do what I want with it.” His speech, as honest and heartfelt as it was, had no effect on his father. Frank could tell.

“Frank, you should go home now.” Gerard choked out a whimper and looked at his father desperately. 

“Dad…”

“ _Now._ Gerard, you and I need to have a talk.”

“No,” Gerard whimpered, sounding like a kid anticipating a beating from an upset parent…desperate to get out of the pain.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” Frank whispered as he pulled Gerard into a hug. “I love you.” Gerard just sobbed as if scoffing the words. Frank knew this mood. His feelings were hurt so he had no capacity to feel or accept love.

Gerard watched Frank leave and wanted to chase him. He didn’t want to talk to his dad about anything—especially not sex or how irresponsible he was for wanting it…

“Gerard, I know you think you know what’s best for yourself—”

“Leave me alone,” Gerard whined, lying down and pulling his covers over himself. 

“We need to talk about this.”

“I’d rather talk to Mom,” Gerard mumbled. 

“If I brought her down here, would you talk to her right now?” There was a long pause, Gerard actually thinking over the words and implications.

“Yeah…as long as you don’t hover. At least I know she won’t hit me.”

“I wouldn’t hit you, Gerard…”

“I don’t believe that,” Gerard mumbled as he folded himself further into his blankets. He shivered inwardly as his father disappeared from the room—not leaving him in peace, but going to retrieve his mother so she could work at making him feel as nauseated with himself as his father did.

Gerard must have willed himself asleep during the wait because the sudden touch to his shoulder made him jump—never hearing the footsteps down to his room.

“He shouldn’t have told Frank to leave so early,” his mother whispered as she sat down on his bed and kept gently massaging his shoulder, instantly soothing him. It was in her touch and her words—she was on his side and she loved him. He sighed softly and felt himself start to smile. Someone was on his side in this at least. “You know he’s just trying to protect you, though.”

“Yeah,” Gerard mumbled. “Like I’m a dumb kid who can’t think for himself…”

“It’s not that, Gerard. It’s just…it’s hard to keep from pretending that you’re who you were before this mess. It’s just so easy to think of you as the teenager we lost—pretending none of this happened because hurts too much to think about it. But you’re not a teenager anymore.” She paused to clear her throat…and her mind. To keep from thinking about the awful things and to keep from crying. “You’re not…not _unaware_ of what’s out there and what some men are going to want to do with you,” she said in a firmer tone, finding her purpose again. “You know that, and you’re being very smart about this. I’m proud of you, and—if you tell your father I said this I’m going to ground you whether your twenty-three or not—I’m happy to see that you’re comfortable enough with someone to consider being…intimate with them. And if you two really tried and you told Frank no, and if he really stopped, then I think you’ve made a good choice of a partner.”

“Frank really did stop,” Gerard mumbled, crawling somewhat out of his blankets in order to look at her…look at the one who sided with him and approved of Frank. “And he didn’t get mad that I couldn’t go through with it even though I kept asking for it.” Gerard paused and looked away from her. “Mom, does it make me…um, make me…” His mother sighed and moved her hand to wipe the hair out of his face.

“Make you a whore because you asked him to?” Gerard instantly dropped his gaze to the mattress, trying his best to keep from flinching. “No. It doesn’t. And don’t let anyone convince you that it does. You’re an adult—it’s what adults do. You’re in a relationship—it’s what people in _relationships_ do. And, to put it bluntly, you’re a man, and that’s what men do.”

“Why are you the only one who gets this?” Gerard asked, mostly thinking out loud. He sighed and took in the small smile on her face when he dared to steal a glimpse of her. “Dad is making me feel like a whore every two seconds and you just—”

“Your dad is just trying to protect you.”

“He treats me like I can’t think for myself!” Gerard argued. “I was raped, I’m not brain-damaged.” 

“You’re not the only one he does that to,” his mother said, stroking his hair softly and pausing to cup his cheek affectionately. He could see how much she’d missed him in her eyes. The sadness was a scar that his presence couldn’t heal. Gerard could see that it had broken her when he’d been gone…beyond repair. She was damaged, too, just like he was. “When Mikey was still in high school,” she said, dropping her hand to her lap, “he had this girlfriend for a little while, but he broke up with her because your father kept saying he was going to ‘be irresponsible’ and get her pregnant, and that if he did we weren’t going to support him and the baby. Have it be known I told your father that I would throw him out of this house if he tried to push my son and my grandchild onto the streets. I tried to talk to your brother about it, but he said it wasn’t worth the trouble and let the girl go.” She sighed then and started to look as if she were lost in her thoughts. “He was so hard on you…your dad. It didn’t surprise me that you started doing drugs…and I really think that if you hadn’t gone missing Mikey would’ve been right there with you before too long.”

“Mikey’s smarter than that…” Gerard mumbled. 

“He is now, but I still worry. Sometimes he gets depressed like you used to and I worry so much that he’ll be gone one morning just like you were.” Gerard watched her fall into a sad silence and sighed softly. He couldn’t help but feel like every bit of this was his fault. If he’d never done drugs, none of this would have happened…

_and you’d be dead by now,_ a voice in his head whispered harshly. _You would have killed yourself by now._

“Remember when I told Dad that I lied to the therapist?” Gerard asked, just to break his own thoughts. 

“What?” His mother asked, sounding like she hadn’t actually heard him. 

“That day…when I told Dad that I lied to the therapist and he got mad at me…”

“Yes,” his mother answered, looking away from him due to the pain of the memory. Seeing her son offer his father sex in a state of frenzied confusion could no doubt have left her hurting.

“I never really lied…I just hold things back that I don’t want to talk about.” She nodded. “It’s one thing, really, that I hide.” 

_Are you trying to talk about it? It has nothing to do with this. She just wants to talk about you and Frank. Why are you talking about_ that, _Gerard?_

“Do you…want to talk about it?” His mother asked, looking at his sympathetically. Her eyes told him he was free to speak and also free to keep his silence.

“I don’t know if I can,” Gerard mumbled. 

“Don’t force yourself. You’ve had enough stress tonight…” But now he was thinking about it, and so was she. It made everything feel awkward. “Do you want to stay the night at Frank’s? He doesn’t work tomorrow.”

“Dad won’t—”

“Yeah, well I pushed you out of my body and it hurt, so I have more of a say in what you can and can’t do than he does. You’re my son, too.” Gerard started to smile and sat up, letting his blankets fall off of his shoulders.

“I can really stay at Frank’s tonight?” His mother nodded. She didn’t seem thrilled with the idea that she herself suggested, but his need to see Frank overwhelmed his mother-son bond at the moment. 

“If he’ll take you to get your hair cut tomorrow—I can’t take it anymore. Your hair is a mess and it looks bad. You look like a girl with a bad dye job…it’s too long.” Her sudden passion about his hair had to be a cover for some other emotion, but Gerard let her keep her walls up. He didn’t particularly want to see her cry. 

“Can I dye it?”

“ _Please_ do,” she said, rolling her eyes towards him tiredly. “It’s a mess—you know it’s a mess.”

“Can I…pick the colour?” Gerard asked nervously. Dyeing his hair was typically his master’s job. Master picked the cut, Master picked the colour, Gerard did the work to dye it and if it came out wrong he would get slapped.

“Well, seeing as it’s your head and you’re the one stuck with it, I don’t see why not.” It was as if Pandora’s box had opened…and instead of endless chaos, it was endless fuckin’ rainbow colours and ammonia fumes and hair swatches. 

“Can I dye it green?” He asked, testing her.

“No.” Gerard feigned disappointment.

“Purple?”

“ _No._ ”

“Can I make it black again?” She shrugged. “Oo! Can I go blonde!?”

“If…if you really want to,” she said, looking him over as if trying to envision it. She didn’t seem to like the idea.

“Can I put streaks in it?”

“I wish you wouldn’t…” she stated, getting up from the bed and looking him over as if catching on to his game. 

“What if I go platinum?” 

“Why don’t you go upstairs and call Frank to see if he’ll come pick you up?”

“Mom, really. What if I go platinum?”

“It’ll kill your hair.”

“But you didn’t say no,” he said, staring to grin sheepishly as ideas started to fill him. Seriously, she was going to let him pick a colour…and a cut, too, all on his own. 

It was his body. She was proving it. Even if she was his mother and she’d given birth to him and it had hurt—she was still letting him do what he wanted with it. 

“Just don’t come back with multi-coloured hair…I don’t want my son to be a clown. And if you pick a colour that blinds me, you’re going to wake up bald.” Gerard rolled his eyes. “Just don’t tell your dad until it’s too late. I don’t need to fight with him tonight about where you sleep _and_ what you do with your hair.”

“So I can go platinum?” Gerard asked. Her shoulders dropped.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard moaned softly and then gasped, trying in vain to keep his composure as Frank’s hand ran over the most sensitive part of his entire body. If he wasn’t moaning, he was whimpering—so conflicted but so ashamedly pleased. It felt so good to be touched like this, every part of him was tingling and his nerves were humming—all from having Frank touch him through his boxers.

“Gerard…you don’t masturbate at all, do you, Babe?” Gerard moaned softly and shook his head against the pillow.

“I’m—I’m nuhh…I’m not allowed to—ahn—do that.” His breaths could only come in short bursts and every other one was disrupted with a moan or a whine. All from being touched through his clothes…

“Yes you are…no one is gonna stop you—and then you won’t be so tense all the time.”

“What if someone comes in and sees me?” Gerard asked, moaning loudly after his serious concern had been vocalized without interruption. 

“Gerard, they all do it,” Frank said with a small laugh, finding that talking to Gerard kept him in the present time and prevented his mind from drifting back to times with masters who gave him little concern when it came to sex. “Your dad does, Mikey does…your mom does.” Gerard groaned as if to say ‘thanks for the images, bastard.’

“Don’t talk about my mo—ah. Ah, aah…” His sentence faded into a drawn-out moan and he bucked his hips gently. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. He always apologized when he moved. It took a while for Frank to get him not to apologize for moaning. “F-Frank, I-I want it—ah…” Another whimper. 

“Not tonight. You’re not ready for that… _this_ should be enough.” To emphasize his words, he swirled his finger over the fabric-covered tip

“But what about you?” A moan. “You’re not getting anything from—ngh—this. I feel bad—oh…” Frank could tell, despite the moans that were getting louder, Gerard was feeling guilt. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Frank said quietly, squeezing softly and getting drunk off of Gerard’s moan.

“No one’s ever done this for me before,” he panted between whimpers.

“I feel like I’m going to hear that a lot,” Frank whispered, leaning up kiss Gerard’s mouth. There was hair sticking to his lips…hair which then in turn got in Frank’s mouth and made him pull back a bit too quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whimpered. Frank turned his apologies into cries of pleasure, realizing after several more minutes of what most couples would call foreplay that Gerard was becoming exhausted. His little noises were getting sharper and shriller, more desperate…less lustful and more needy.

“You’re not…you’re not holding back are you?” Frank asked, suddenly thinking himself an idiot. They’d been doing this for over forty minutes…not that Frank was really complaining since he was sure he could go for hours just listening to those cute little noises…if he wasn’t constantly afraid that he was going to somehow traumatize the other man.

“I don’t…want to be loud,” Gerard whimpered before groaning and scratching the mattress slowly.

“I don’t mean screaming, Sweetheart,” Frank responded, rubbing his thumb over the tip again—the fabric covering it completely soaked through with pre-come. Gerard made a sound like a sob and through his head back on the pillow. “You’re…holding back…you’re—are you trying not to come?”

“You haven’t told me I can yet!” Gerard cried out, sounding both desperate and annoyed. 

If Frank didn’t think it would be detrimental to Gerard’s psyche, he would pause their game for a moment to smack his head against the wall. Of-fuckin-course…he wasn’t going to orgasm until he was told that he was allowed to.

“And I need to,” Gerard whined, squirming and arching his back.

“Gerard, you don’t need my permission,” Frank said, trying to ignore how awkward this was becoming.

Gerard sighed and seemed to relax for a moment, but then started back whimpering and gasping again. Now he was just being shy…

“Frank, you love me?” Gerard choked out, squirming and tilting his hips away from Frank’s touch.

“Yes, Gerard,” Frank insisted, trying to keep every feeling except for affection out of his voice—desperate to keep his frustration to himself. 

Gerard relaxed back into the touch, but it was still another several minutes of choked moans and shrill gasps before he finally let himself release—biting into his lower lip and making no noise, even as his body shuddered from the aftershocks…barely even breathing despite his prior labored breaths.

And then in a matter of seconds he was sobbing.

“Don’t—don’t cry,” Frank said, holding back a groan of dismay. He moved to one side of Gerard’s body and found one of his hands to hold. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry, Honey…come on. What’s the matter?” Frank pushed the bangs out of Gerard’s face only to have him turn his head away.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whimpered.

“Don’t be sorry—there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Frank said, finishing the sentence with a sigh and petting Gerard’s messed up hair.

“I should’ve known better—but I didn’t think about it and I wasted so much time…” Gerard moved to roll onto his side, making his back face Frank in order for him to burry himself in the blanket. 

“Gerard, you didn’t know, Babe. I’m not mad—it didn’t upset me so you don’t need to cry.” Gerard just made a depressed noise and Frank laid his head on his shoulder, nuzzling it in hopes of brining him some kind of comfort. “And you didn’t waste time,” Frank said with a sigh. “I like touching you. It’s not a waste…it feels good to make you feel good.” He hoped that it would lighten the mood, but it didn’t. “Please don’t cry,” Frank whispered, beginning to pet Gerard’s hair as his quiet sobs continued.

The tears carried on for a while, only getting loud for a short time before fading away into quiet sniffs and whimpers. At that time, Frank started rubbing Gerard’s shoulder. He didn’t really get much of a response until after the tears had dried and he’d moved from his shoulder to the middle of his back—gently massaging the skin.

Gerard must have liked it because he gave a soft sigh and rolled onto his stomach, offering his entire back for Frank’s entertainment. 

Smiling softly, Frank shifted so both of his hands could explore the skin of Gerard’s back…fingertips running down his spine but stopping several inches above the waistband of his boxers and dragging the blankets out of the way with each touch. 

Such soft skin…smooth skin. Soft sighs, little hums…

“I wrote another song about you,” Gerard whispered groggily, Frank’s touches lulling him to sleep.

“Is it one I’m allowed to hear?” Frank asked, leaning down to kiss one of Gerard’s shoulder blades. Gerard just hummed again and sighed in pleasure when Frank ran his hands down his sides, stopping only to rub at his hips.

“Feels good…no one’s done this for me before…”

“Yeah,” Frank answered quietly, leaning down to kiss the back of Gerard’s neck and evoke another sigh.

“Mm…I like it.”

“I’d like to hear this song…” A quiet, sleepy groan. 

“It goes…something like…” he stared to hum something, but was asleep before a single line of the melody could be finished.

To Frank, that was just fucking cute…


	16. Animals that Never Paid Attention in School

Gerard woke up to a scream and sat up instantly. He was alone in the bed, making him fear that the scream had been Frank’s—that something must have happened to him. 

_Master’s here,_ Gerard suddenly thought. _He’s come back for me because he knows what I’ve been doing with Frank._ He whimpered loudly and squirmed to get off the bed, listening to Frank cry out again. The noise was quieter this time, but sounded even more distressed. _Is he dying? Maybe he’s dying…_

“Oh, _God,_ ” Frank groaned out, voice shaking. Gerard swallowed hard, terrified of what waited for him in the next room but too afraid to stay in bed. If Frank needed him, he couldn’t hide… If Master _was_ there, he would have to plead with him to spare Frank’s life.

“F-Frank?” Gerard called, hardly any louder than a whisper as he crept towards the half-open bedroom door. Forcing himself to be calm for a moment, he tried to take in the scent of the air. It didn’t smell like blood…he couldn’t smell Master’s cologne. Just damp air and soap—Frank had taken a shower. Had he slipped and fallen? “Frank?” He asked again, a little louder as he pushed the bedroom door the rest of the way open.

He peered into the bathroom, but the light was off and the room was empty, so he crept towards the living room. Vacant. Frank was in the kitchen…

“Frank?” Gerard called, louder. He stepped towards the doorway of the room, but was afraid to look inside. Again, he could smell nothing but humidity and scented shampoo. Not blood, not smoke…nothing.

“Gerard?” Frank said back, sounding scared. Gerard shook his fear back a little further and stepped into the doorway, moaning in relief when he saw Frank just standing there with his back to him…in one piece…not bleeding anywhere visible…all alone.

“Frank, what’s the matter?” Gerard asked, concern quickly washing out his relief. 

“There’s a spider by the sink—oh, God…” Gerard’s heart first sank and then started pumping fury though his veins. 

“A spider?” He asked harshly. “You fucking scared me! I thought something had happened to you—and here you were screaming because of a mother fucking _spider!?_ ” Frank turned to look at him, face pale with terror… Seriously, he was that afraid of a little bug… “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Gerard grumbled, anger ebbing as he reminded himself to be glad that nothing bad had happened. “Just crush the damned thing…”

“But it’s scary,” Frank mumbled. “They bite you and they just…crawl around. No peaceful creature has that many legs, Gerard!”

“Give me something and I’ll crush it then,” Gerard hissed, leaving the kitchen to find a shoe. Frank followed him closely. “Fuckin’ scared the hell out of me,” Gerard growled as he found a shoe and started back for the kitchen. “I thought you got hurt…”

“Sorry,” Frank said, sounding almost sarcastic, still following him as he approached the sink. “Spiders really just—oh fuck.” His sarcasm dissipated as the spider came into view. A relatively small creature relaxing on the knob of the faucet. It didn’t even try to scuttle away when Gerard positioned the shoe over it and smashed it with a satisfying crunch. 

The instant it was dead, Frank sighed in relief. His sigh then turned to a yelp as, on his way back out of the room, Gerard slapped him on the back of the thigh with the sole of the shoe. 

“Fuckin’ scared the piss out of me, you fuckin’ pansy…” Frank made a soft whining sound and rubbed at the offended area, following Gerard with his eyes.

“You still want to get your hair cut today?” Frank asked as he got himself a glass of water from the faucet—calm now the crisis had been averted. He heard the slide of a dresser drawer in the bedroom, telling him Gerard was picking out clothes.

“Mom’s, like, on the verge of disowning me if I don’t,” Gerard said in jest, getting himself dressed and tossing his boxers—stiff in some places after the night’s antics—against the wall. 

“Do you know what kind of cut you want? I have some magazines if you want to look at them.” Frank appeared in the doorway, chancing a timid glance to see if Gerard was still changing…and admiring the view in secret when he noticed that he was.

“Just something short…”

“So…a bowl cut then?” Frank asked doubtfully. 

“Um…short with a lot of layers? You know, so I can have that permanent sexed-up look…”

“Mm, sexy,” Frank commented, sliding out of view when Gerard moved as if to turn around. He didn’t like being watched very much…

“I wanna go platinum…”

“Yeah, you said that last night.”

“Platinum’s like…really white, right?” Gerard asked as he came out of the bedroom, pulling on his shirt and buttoning his jeans.

“It can be,” Frank stated. “Sometimes it can be kind of silver.”

“That sounds cool,” Gerard mumbled. He didn’t sound like he thought it was cool.

“You could always dye it black…you look good with black hair. It matches the eyeliner you like to wear.”

“Frank, can we quit talking about how I look? It makes it sound like you’re just with me for sex…like my master. ‘Oh, Baby, you’d look so sexy if you wore lipgloss…Oh, Honey, dye your hair black for me—you’d be so sexy…I like your hair long, Cum-whore, I want something to pull on when I fuck you…’”

“Sorry,” Frank mumbled, made a little nervous by Gerard’s aggression. “You just sound nervous about going blonde—platinum,” he corrected hastily when Gerard passed him a dark scowl. 

“I’m just tired of having it the way he wanted it. I want it to be something… Something… _uh._ ”

“Something he wouldn’t like,” Frank finished. Gerard nodded. “Regardless of your hair colour, I’m still going to love you.”

“Because I’m fuckin’ pretty…” Gerard growled. 

“Because you’re sweet and affectionate and fucking nice to me,” Frank stated in a similar tone.

“Yeah, it’s really sweet of me to hit you and dump coffee on your friends.”

“I find your mood swings appealing and your jealousy issues profoundly adorable.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh yeah, and your temper tantrums—”

“Turn you on?” Gerard snapped.

“Feeling bitchy today, hm?”

“Maybe it’s because I wasn’t in your house for fifteen minutes before you tried to fuck me!” Gerard called out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He looked more scared than angry.

“First off, you’re the one who asked me to touch it—and the first time we tried doing anything you promised me you wouldn’t use our times together against me so quit it. Pick something else to yell at me for.” His tough love act seemed to work because Gerard cast his eyes to the floor and when he lifted his gaze he just looked sad. “Now tell me what’s the matter.” He said softly, trying to read it in his eyes but coming away with nothing.

Gerard lowered his eyes again and muttered something incomprehensible.

“Sweetheart, I can’t…you gotta speak up. I play guitar every night. I’m going deaf—” 

“I’m afraid it’ll look bad,” Gerard cried out. “I’m afraid it’ll look bad and you won’t want me.” He bit his lower lip nervously, but found the courage to speak over top of Frank when he tried to reply. “And even if I am a whore, I’m still human enough to know that that’s a really dumb reason to break up with me…”

“Gerard, I wouldn’t—”

“And I’d still feel like it was my fault because I _picked_ it. I would have made the choice a-and…and it would be my fault if you left me.”

“Gerard, I’m not going to leave you if I think your hair looks bad!” Frank cried, trying to get Gerard to stop speaking before he depressed himself even more. “I’m not dating you for your hair—I’m not in love with you because you’re pretty!”

“But what if it looks bad?” Gerard mumbled. “I don’t…I don’t want to be _ugly._ ” Frank sighed and put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder in order to guide him to the couch. It was hard to cuddle standing up…and Gerard needed soothed.

( ) ( ) ( )

He had a feeling that the man cutting his hair was hitting on him…so he kept looking at Frank to make sure he wasn’t getting mad about it. Gerard had to admit that he felt flattered to have someone show interest in him…even if it was undoubtedly sparked by a physical attraction since the cosmetician knew nothing of his “kind” personality and “passionate devotion.” 

Yeah, he’d made Frank explain why he loved him during the car ride to the salon. Frank seemed to have trouble explaining it…he kept getting confused and repeating himself. And then ended it by saying “Gerard, it’s just this tie I feel to you—like I need to be near you or my lungs are gonna collapse, my bones are all going to break, my brain is going to swell and I’m gonna die…I can’t explain it. I just need you. I want to protect you. I love you.” All Gerard could say in response was that he loved Frank, too, and didn’t want his brain to explode…so they should move back in together. 

Frank still hadn’t answered to that. Gerard tried to pretend that that didn’t hurt his feelings.

“So you want to colour your hair today?” The man asked, fluffing Gerard’s newly shortened hair and massaging his scalp gently. Gerard whimpered—not because he now had thirty seconds to decide black or white, or not at all—but because he was starting to get an erection from the not-so-intimate but oh-so-erotic touches.

“I…I can’t decide,” Gerard mumbled, squirming in his seat and looking to Frank who offered him a smile and then tilted his head when he noticed his boyfriend’s discomfort. 

“Well,” the man said, moving his hands from Gerard’s head to his shoulders. He didn’t massage them, just gripped them like a friend would…but this man wasn’t a friend. “What does your gut tell you?”

“T-To dye it…either pl-platinum or b-black,” Gerard stammered, twisting even more and fearing that this man was going to drag him into the back room and rape him rather than dye his hair.

“Hm, black hair would look good on you—”

“Platinum,” Gerard practically screamed, shifting away from the man’s touch. “I-I want to go platinum…I’ve never been blonde before. It’ll be—uh, uh…fun. But I want a break first. I’ve been sitting too long.” Barely giving the man time to take the black drape off of his shoulders, Gerard got out of the seat and hurried over to Frank, trying to hide behind him to avoid the hairstylist’s touch.

“What’s the matter?” Frank whispered into Gerard’s ear as Gerard began to embrace him. “You seem scared.”

“Touching me,” Gerard whispered back, trying to keep his hips from touching Frank’s lest the other man notice his problem… Would Frank think he was trying to cheat on him if he caught him sporting a hard-on from another man’s touch? Wasn’t that…cheating?

Oh…Gerard felt like he was about to cry. He’d just cheated on Frankie…

“What, is he over there feeling you up?” Frank whispered, his voice getting a little harsh.

“He was…no…just touching my head…”

“Well, that’s his job. He always gives massages—don’t get scared.” Frank pulled away from the hug and gave him a soft, comforting smile. “Did you pick a colour?”

“Platinum?” Gerard mumbled, trying to calm himself. “Is that okay?”

“Sounds awesome—I’m excited to see it…”

“You don’t sound excited…”

“Well, neither do you,” Frank said, giving him a sad look. “If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to dye your hair.”

“I want to,” Gerard mumbled. “It’s just different…and I don’t want it to look bad.”

“If it looks bad, I’ll buy you a wig until it’s safe to dye it back—don’t worry, Sweetheart. You’re more than your hair.” Gerard nodded and glanced back at the man who had cut his hair. 

“Is he going to…do anything to me? Like…I know you’ll say no, but is he going to touch me? If I go back with him to dye my hair, is he going to…Frank, I don’t want to be alone with some guy I don’t know.” 

“Okay,” Frank said, nodding. “I’ll go with you. He won’t give us any trouble about it.”

“I’m sorry I cause so much trouble,” Gerard mumbled, sighing softly.

“You don’t cause trouble,” Frank answered, guiding Gerard back over to the stylist who Gerard flinched away from.

( ) ( ) ( )

Words, words, words…notes, notes, notes…blackness rimming his vision, lightheadedness overcoming him…body slumping and jerking back upright…head tilting and being pulled back…words…words are supposed to be transcribed into notes…but it just isn’t fuckin’ happening.

Mikey set down his pencil and covered his face with his hands and rubbed at his face and his eyes beneath his glasses. 

So fucking tired…so fucking stressed…so fucking over this required-course bullshit.

But just closing his eyes to rub them made his mind fade to black just like his vision was. 

_No._ He can’t sleep here…he has to take notes or else end up failing four classes—like that made a difference after he was already failing three…

If he wasn’t so numb and so fucking sleepy, he felt for sure that he would start to cry.

He pulled his eyes open and made eye contact with the professor who was staring at him while giving the lecture. 

Fatigue was eating him like a fucking piranha…the professor could tell, but she was less than sympathetic. 

No, she was a fucking bitch—she just had to ask him to answer the question he hadn’t heard because he’d been _asleep_. And not even the peaceful, willing sleep—the ‘okay, fuck you Mikey Way, your brain needs a nap whether you like it or not’ sleep. An involuntary sleep—like a date-rape…

His brain fucking date-raped him.

Eh, it made more sense in his head…

He opened his mouth to spit out a made up, educated guess of an answer, but his phone rang shrilly and cut him off.

There was a policy about cell phones, the professor informed him…and the rest of the class. Mikey always thought the rule was stupid. It was as if he was being paid to be babysat. He gave the damn college fucking cash, and not so he could lose points because a professor can’t handle a little noise-distraction.

Fuck this, fuck them…

His brain perked for a second…and then faded back to darkness in time with the sinking of his heart. Well, there was no hope for him now.

He pretended that he needed to take the call and left the room with his things. He was going to fail anyway, why bother staying in class let alone returning for the next one…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank sat on the couch in his apartment with his head in his hands. Gerard had locked himself in the bathroom crying the instant they’d gotten into the apartment, and he hadn’t stopped for almost an hour. Frank had tried to console him through the door—it doesn’t look bad, Gerard; it’s really cute, Sweetheart—but had gotten nowhere.

They weren’t dramatic “oh, give me attention” sobs, just serious, unhappy cries…

He’d tried to call Mikey, thinking that he might be able to calm Gerard down since it didn’t seem like a good idea to take him back to Mom and Dad sobbing because he hated his hair, but Mikey hadn’t answered. He was in class…

Gerard had barely managed to make it out of the salon before starting to cry, making the hairdresser bite his lips in anxiety—feeling terrible.

The tears stopped for a moment, making Frank lift his head, but then the sobs were replaced with the sounds of Gerard gagging…depressed enough to make himself sick. 

At the same time that the toilet flushed, Frank’s phone started to ring. It was Mikey.

“You called me in class…I didn’t have my phone on silent so I just lost ten-percent of my final grade. Thanks for that.” He sounded somehow sad and pissed off and indifferent all at the same time…

“Well, tell your professor it was a family emergency then—then you’ll get your points back.”

“Why would I tell her that?” His tone seemed to inquire ‘why would I tell her anything’. 

“Look, I called because Gerard’s really…upset right now and I thought maybe you would be able to calm him down.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Again, his tone seemed to ask something else. ‘What did you do to him?’

“I don’t think he likes his hair very much…he’s been in my bathroom crying for over an hour and he won’t answer me when I try to talk to him.”

“You want me to come over and talk to him?”

“I think it would help,” Frank answered, unable to place the strange emotion that was tainting Mikey’s voice.

“Okay…so…I guess I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Frank glanced at the clock and noticed the hour… 

“Mikey, do you have class right—” Mikey hung up.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey wasn’t let into the apartment for one second before he stormed past Frank to the tightly closed bathroom door. The ferocity of his movements had Frank thinking for a moment that he was about to yell at Gerard…or break down the door and beat him. But when he reached the door his aggression seemed to disappear and he merely knocked on it softly.

“Gee? It’s Mikey…can you talk to me for a minute?” Frank expected Gerard to react in some way similar to that of a teenage girl in a low-budget movie—scream no, say he looked ugly, and go back to hysterical tears…but he didn’t.

“Mikey, Dad’s going to k-kill me!” Gerard sobbed in response.

“Okay…no he’s not,” Mikey answered, a strangeness about his tone…as if to imply that Gerard had suggested their father kill the wrong son. Gerard didn’t respond though. “Is it that bad?” Mikey asked, sounding curious…almost intrigued.

“N-no…but he won’t like it!”

“So? It’s your head…did you go platinum?”

“Yes,” Gerard cried out, more of a sob than a word.

“I want to see…I’ve pictured you a lot of ways in my life, but never as a blonde.” He sounded like he was making a joke. That strange sound at the end of the sentence could have been a laugh. “Can I see?” There was a pause, and then Gerard opened the bathroom door and pulled Mikey inside, slamming it again behind him. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard left Frank’s apartment wearing one of the other man’s hooded-sweaters. He looked like a celebrity trying not to be recognized…the hood pulled up and much farther over his face than could ever be necessary. Turns out he was in love with his hair…but terrified that his dad was going to hit him for it…more than terrified—petrified, horrified…

Mikey assured him that he wasn’t going to let that happen, and that their Dad was generally ‘cool’ about things like that. Mikey said something about having a weird haircut himself at some point…it sounded made up…he didn’t seem to have much energy to pretend at the moment.

Still, Gerard found himself being practically dragged into his home by Mikey as his nerves kept him from moving freely. What if Dad got mad? Dad was already upset with him for so many other things…this could just be the cherry on top—the final thing, the thing that made his father completely resent him…

And Mom…what would she think? She’d told him she didn’t want him to be platinum…

“Come on, Gee, nothing’s going to happen to you…” Mikey insisted as he got Gerard into the house and closed the door behind them. 

“Gerard?” It was their father, calling him from the living room. 

Gerard tried to duck into the stairwell that would lead to his bedroom when he heard the footsteps coming, but Mikey grabbed his shoulder. It wasn’t a rough grip, nor was it firm, but Gerard was trained to respond to such a contact.

Stay. 

Stand still.

Don’t you dare try to run from me…

He whimpered softly at a memory and subconsciously pulled the hood even further over his head and face.

“You’re home early,” his father said, no doubt meaning Mikey who—come to think of it—was supposed to be in class.

“Yeah…” Mikey answered, giving no explanation.

“Are you feeling okay? You look—”

“Tired. I’m just tired.” Their father hummed.

“Part of college life… Gerard?” Gerard twitched at the sound of his voice and wished he could escape into the confines of his basement bedroom. “What’s with the sweater? It’s not cold out.”

“He’s hiding his hair from you,” Mikey stated, almost coldly. Gerard was a little wounded by his harshness, but he guessed his little brother was just making sure that the issue was taken care of quickly… “He thinks you’re going to get mad at him.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and let your brother talk for himself?” Mikey shrugged and disappeared that easily, making Gerard feel alienated. It was almost as if Mikey didn’t…didn’t have time for him. Or that he didn’t see Gerard as someone worth the trouble. “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” their father said once Mikey had gone. “Take your hood down. Let me see it.”

“I-I like it…” Gerard mumbled, as if somehow the worthless opinion of a whore would have an effect on his father’s reaction. He should’ve stayed with black—he’d always had his hair black…even before he’d been kidnapped. The only time it wasn’t black was when he came out of the womb and when he was with his trainer…then it was just a dark, brownish mess like Mikey’s…

“So let me see it…”

“You…you won’t like it,” Gerard mumbled, trying not to sound like a pouting four-year-old… 

“Let me see.” It was an order, so Gerard obeyed. Trying not to start crying again, already cringing in anticipation of a blow to the face, Gerard lowered the hood of the sweater and ducked his head with his eyes closed tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I just wanted to do something different. I’ll dye it back, I p-promise.” Every sound made him flinch and he kept his eyes shut tightly against the world. He couldn’t help the near-scream that left him when he heard his father step closer. “I’m sorry, Dad, please!” He cried, stepping towards the stairs to his room with his eyes still closed.

“Careful!—or you’re gonna fall!” His father grabbed him by his arm and pulled him a step backwards. Gerard knew it was a protective touch, knew deep down that it was meant to save him falling head-first down the basement stairs, but most of his mind told him that his master was angry and he was pulling him closer in order to beat him.

_“You fucking bitch! You missed an entire spot—don’t cut me off! I don’t care that you’ve never done it on your own before—how hard is it to dye your fucking hair!?”_ His master had beaten him on that occasion, and a true beating was a rare occurrence. Master hadn’t been satisfied until his whore was in too much pain and too overcome with tears to get his balance in order to stand. Master had refused to even talk to him after that until the missed patch had been fixed…and all of the other hardly visible spots were corrected. 

Being ignored was worse than being beaten…

But he didn’t want beaten either, Gerard realized as the tears rushed him. Hitting was the first sign that someone loved him, but it was so unpleasant…And all over hair. Fucking hair. It just seemed to make him need to cry more.

“You don’t need to dye your hair back—it’s _fine._ Why are you crying?—it’s just _hair_ , Gerard. Calm down. We’re not going through this because of your hair…” Gerard calmed slightly…was he over-reacting? It was a possibility…

Dad. This was Dad, not Master…but sometimes the lines blurred in his mind. Dads were like masters…they could beat you, yell at you, make you feel awful or make you feel safe, needed, loved. 

Gerard wanted to feel safe…

Daringly—or what he felt was daringly—he pushed his head against his father’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He wiped his tears off of his cheeks onto his dad’s shirt and sighed softly when his dad began to hug him in return.

( ) ( ) ( )

They couldn’t tell if Mikey was just drunk or if there was something actually wrong with him. He’d come over to Ray’s house with his guitar and a stagger in his walk that he attributed to a lack of sleep, but after having one bottle of beer—compliments of Ray—he’d stopped playing in favor if sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.

He’d been sitting in that same position for forty minutes without moving—his chest only rising and falling with slow breaths.

“Do you think it has to do with Gerard?” Ray asked Frank as they sat on the couch in the living room. They could still see Mikey if they leaned over to an extreme angle, but for the most part it was like he wasn’t there…

“Maybe. We’ve been playing together for weeks, but it’s like I don’t even know him,” Frank mumbled back.

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much…”

“He talks to you all the time.”

“About the guitar. He’s still learning to play. He doesn’t talk to me about anything but that—not even so much as a ‘how are you today.’”

“Gerard says he’s just a quiet person.”

“How’s he been? You don’t talk about him as much as you used to.”

“He got his hair cut today and then decided to dye it platinum.”

“I can’t see him…blonde.”

“It’s…yeah, it’s cute, but he’s kind of intimidated by it I think. He liked it, but it’s really different for him. I had to call Mikey to come over to convince him to come out of the bathroom. He locked himself in there crying.”

“Didn’t he have class today?—Mikey?” Frank shrugged.

“I thought so, but when I asked he hung up on me, and when he came over he didn’t even say a word to me.” They sat in silence for a while.

“You should go talk to him…” With a great deal of trepidation, Frank got off of the couch and crept into the kitchen where Mikey still sat…same pose as before. 

“Mikey?” The other man grunted and then sighed, lowering his hands from his face. He looked exhausted. “You okay?”

“No,” he answered quickly, sharply. “No, if you really need to know—no. I’m not.”

“Is it anything I can—”

“Help with?” Mikey asked, looking at Frank with disgust and disbelief. “Anything you can help with? I’m failing four classes—there’s only three weeks left in the semester! I can’t fix this!” Frank bit his lip anxiously and glanced away from the man who was now glaring at him with all of the misdirected rage he could muster. “I haven’t slept in _weeks_. If it’s not the stress of everything that’s happening, it’s fucking nightmares.” Mikey rubbed at his face with his hands and sighed heavily. “I mean, all night, all I think about is those men who hurt Gerard. I know that on nights I considered ‘the best night of my fuckin life’ he was probably being raped. Times I was mad because of something stupid, he could have been getting _beaten._ ” Mikey growled and covered his face. “I always thought he just _ran away._ He was miserable as fuck back then…Here some man was _torturing_ him every day for _months_. Then he was fucking sold to some asshole like a damned dog or something…” Mikey made a sound like a cry. “He shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“Yeah…but he’s getting better,” Frank mumbled, afraid to say the wrong thing in fear that Mikey would snap even more.

“You know, it seems like that until something goes wrong—until he panics because Dad won’t like his hair colour, or has a flashback because someone yells at him.”

“It’s hard, I know, but—”

“No, you _don’t_ know!” Mikey shouted. “You don’t know what he was like before! For you, he’s always been fucked up—I still remember when he was normal! When he and Dad could fight for hours and he’d never back down—when he’d never take shit from anyone! Now all he does is cower unless someone says something bad about _you._ ”

“Well…well what the fuck do you expect me to say to you?” Frank mumbled back, having no idea how to keep up the conversation. He didn’t feel like screaming at the other man, feeling too much sympathy for Mikey to feel anything else.

“Nothing,” Mikey muttered, covering his face with his hands. “But putting a bullet through my head might help ease the stress a little.”

“Gerard needs you,” Frank muttered.

“Not as much as he needs you…you’re all he ever talks about. You, how much he hates his therapist, flashbacks he has, and how scared he is of Dad…”

“He’s still having flashbacks?”

“You think they’d just stop one night? His nightmares just get worse…”

“He doesn’t tell me—”

“He doesn’t want you to leave him because he’s so fucked up. He hides everything from you—I’m the one he vents to.”

“I’m sorry…” Frank looked him over and sighed. 

Mikey looked…Mikey looked vaguely like Gerard had that night on the stage. Scared, wounded, and angry…

( ) ( ) ( )

He kissed Gerard’s cheek and ran his fingers gently through the short, choppy, platinum hair. He missed the long, faded tangles of his old haircut, but the new one wasn’t bad. Gerard was still being self-conscious about the drastic change, but Frank could almost call that lack of confidence cute.

It meant that he needed more kissing and hugging and compliments to feel better about himself, and that affection was something Frank had more than enough of to offer. 

“I love you, Beautiful,” Frank whispered into Gerard’s ear before kissing him on the corner of his mouth.

“You just want in my pants,” Gerard murmured back playfully. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think they’ll fit me…” Frank said. Gerard giggled.

“Shut up.”

“Mm, but you do look cute today…you’ve got eye shadow on. That’s different.” Gerard blushed and pulled away from the embrace, seeking solace in the comfort of Frank’s couch instead of his arms. “I like it—looks cute.”

“Dad said I look silly…”

“Well, he’s not gay, so…he’s not a fair judge.”

“If my Dad told me I looked sexy I’d probably…probably start to cry.”

“What if I told you you’re sexy?” Frank asked, dropping down on the couch beside him and laying his head on Gerard’s shoulder.

“I’d…I don’t know,” Gerard mumbled, blushing.

“You’d just laugh at me,” Frank said with a smile. As if on cue, Gerard giggled. “Sexy,” Frank spat out, just to see Gerard blush harder.

“Stop,” Gerard chuckled, burying his face in Frank’s shoulder and nuzzling it. “I wanna hear you play the guitar…and I wanna sing.” Frank raised his brow and stroked Gerard’s hair softly. 

“Well, if you’d give me some lyrics I could write some music for it and Mikey, Ray, and I could give you a show…”

“I just want to hear you play,” Gerard mumbled, leaning away and looking at Frank with sad eyes.

“What about Mikey? He’s your brother—he’s really dedicated to this.”

“Mikey shouldn’t be focusing on guitar—I know he’s doing bad in school.”

“Yeah…he told me about that,” Frank mumbled, crossing his legs and looking at the floor uncomfortably. “Have your parents found out?”

“No. They didn’t notice that he quit studying about a week ago. I did.”

“I feel bad for him…”

“It’s my fault,” Gerard muttered suddenly. “If I’d just stayed—”

“Don’t say that,” Frank said firmly. “It is not your fault.”

“But he was doing fine until I came back—”

“Gerard,” Frank snapped, wanting to kill the thought before it grew any larger.

“But, Frankie—”

“ _No!_ Don’t blame yourself for this. He just needs to focus and stop letting himself get distracted.”

“Don’t blame Mikey,” Gerard half whimpered, lowering his head as Frank raised his voice. 

“It’s not your fault…I don’t want you to blame yourself.” Gerard stayed silent and looked as though he was disconnecting. His eyes out of focus. “Gerard?” No answer. “Gerard…I’m not yelling at you. Come on.” Frank leaned over and put his head on Gerard’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

“I have a song,” Gerard mumbled, squirming on the couch in order to get his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “But don’t read it while I’m here…’kay?” Gerard looked at him with eyes belonging to a puppy and Frank found himself nodding dumbly and taking the paper only to put it in his own pocket. “It doesn’t have a title…but…I think it’s a good song…kinda.” His confidence failed him as he carried on. In the end he looked like he was starting to cry. 

Frank understood. Gerard was showing a piece of his soul in the song, even if there was something in the lyric that Frank couldn’t interpret or understand. It was trust.

It was a lot of trust.

So much trust.

Frank placed a soft kiss on Gerard’s cheek and stroked one of his hands softly.

“I love you, Gerard,” he said softly. Gerard just whimpered and bowed his head.


	17. And I Will Die in this Place

Frank didn’t know if he was really allowed to share the lyrics of Gerard’s song with anyone else, but he was finding it hard to keep the words inside his head.

It was _so_ personal. It was Gerard, just on paper. He was telling so many secrets, expressing so much pain…

Some lines Frank understood completely, he could even tell what inspired them. But others…others were just mysteries. Whether he thought about them literally or metaphorically. 

_I was killing before killing was cool._

Killing? What did he mean by killing? It couldn’t be in the literal sense…

And to be truly honest, Frank didn’t understand much of the feeling behind the chorus.

_’cause we all wanna party when a funeral ends  
And we all get together when we burry our friends_

The second part was more obvious though.

_It’s been eight bitter years since I’ve been seein’ your face_  
And you’re walking away  
And I will die in this place 

Obvious…but still, the line about killing…Frank couldn’t figure it out. He wasn’t sure if Gerard intended for him to dissect it like he was, but the fact that the man had told him not to read it while he was there indicated that he expected Frank to analyze the fuck out of the words. 

_So tell me all about your problems  
I was killing before killing was cool_

Perhaps the first line was about his therapist. It seemed like the typical psychologist’s thing to say. “Tell me about your problems...” And Gerard’s problem was…?

_I was killing before killing was cool_  
You’re so cool  
You’re so cool  
So. Cool. 

Killing could be considered cool by today’s standards. So many crime scene shows, so many murder vendetta movies…video games…Perhaps Gerard was commenting on that—no _doubt_ he was commenting on that.

As for the “I was killing” part, Frank wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Maybe, he tried to think, it had to do with the type of music Gerard listened to. Yeah, songs about killing were in these days, right? Maybe Gerard was just saying he was into that type of music before it became popular.

And the “so cool”…he’d have to hear the way Gerard said it. He obviously wanted it emphasized. If it could sound like a crowd cheering that he’s cool—like “yay, we love you, you’re so awesome” kind of cool. Or maybe he was pushing that he was first seen as “you’re so awesome” cool, but then expresses that he’s actually cold…frozen… _cool._

Frank just didn’t know…some of it made sense, but some of it was just a mystery. He almost felt as if he was letting Gerard down by not knowing.

With a sigh, Frank set the paper down and looked at the wall, head resting in one hand. 

With lyrics like this, it was obvious that Gerard wasn’t getting much better in anything other than adapting to social situations. Mikey said he was still having flashbacks, and he still cried when he thought his father—who he used to see as a master—wouldn’t approve of his haircut. 

Maybe Gerard wasn’t getting better at all.

( ) ( ) ( )

Donald Way woke up many mornings to find his oldest son in strange places throughout their home. Sometimes Gerard would just be sitting on the couch staring at something—looking empty and dead until somehow he registered that he was no longer alone and came to life. Other times he’d be standing in a doorway, looking ahead of him at nothing but obviously seeing something no one else could. Some mornings he would be in their bed, other times Mikey’s…maybe asleep on the couch.

This morning, finding Gerard in the kitchen…bent over the counter in a position too obvious to mistake for any other than one of submission…it was starting to become too much. 

Flashbacks. It was the damned flashbacks that left his oldest son roaming the house early in the morning, searching for something…seeing things that weren’t there anymore. Dreaming that he was being touched by someone when he was alone. 

He didn’t know what to do when he found Gerard that way—leaning over the counter and making soft, quiet sounds in a distinct pattern…moaning because he thought he was being fucked—because in his head he was being fucked by his master…because he wasn’t really there.

Gerard wasn’t really there.

He was more like a ghost, and oftentimes Donald found himself feeling as if he were borrowing Gerard from somewhere else…and not Frank Iero’s fucking apartment where Gerard wanted to be all of the time. Like he was being borrowed from another realm. 

Gerard seemed more disconnected than ever…

That must have meant Gerard was going back to normal. 

The feeling that Gerard was living in a different world and only vacationing in the real one wasn’t a new sensation. Gerard used to write things and draw—long before he’d been taken…he was starting to write again and that meant he was slipping.

Slipping right back into place. 

But this feeling was so much stronger now than it had been before. It was so intense that he sometimes felt as if Gerard was physically becoming transparent as he faded back to the other world that owned him.

As for the _fucking_ flashbacks—they needed to stop. They were chipping him away more quickly than the sketches and the song lyrics.

With a sigh, Donald came up to his unobservant son’s side and a placed a hand on his shoulder, stroking it and trying not to flinch when Gerard gasped and pulled back into the present time. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was whimpering because he’d been punished and now he was being fucked…his master’s way of proving that he was still loved. It was messy and harsh, bent over the kitchen counter, but Gerard knew the location was just another part of his punishment. He had to accept it. He was the one who’d wronged his master…

He’d hit Joshua…He’d drawn blood…He wasn’t the one to serve punishments for misbehavior…Now, he had to be punished for acting out-of-turn. 

The thrusts grew a little harsher and whimper escaped…then another…then a soft sob. It didn’t hurt too much—it wasn’t so bad…but it stung. He wasn’t bleeding, but it hurt—but he _deserved_ it.

“Gerard…if only you didn’t try to take over _everything_ …” His master whispered, thrusting a little slower and bending down to kiss the back of Gerard’s neck. 

“Sor…ry,” Gerard managed to mumble in between thrusts. “I’m—hn…sorry, Master.”

“You never learn, Babe…you’re so—so _bad_.” Gerard whimpered and pressed his face against the counter heavily. 

The thrusts were getting faster…it was painful.

He closed his eyes and let his body receive the punishment. Felt himself be pushed harder against the counter. Pain. Pain. Pain. Heartache. Heartache. Hearta—

Gerard’s eyes snapped open when suddenly he felt a third hand on his body—a heavy slap on the shoulder to accompany the grip on his hips. 

It was with a heavy gasp that Gerard pulled away from his illusion.

There was no master here…he was on his father’s kitchen counter, bent over and offering himself to his _father_. 

He moaned loudly in horror and straightened himself.

“Dad,” he whispered, looking at his father’s worried face. “I…I was…” He was trying to formulate an excuse, hoping his father wouldn’t realize what he’d just witnessed even though he knew the man already did.

“Have you been talking to your therapist about this?” Gerard bit his lower lip and lowered his head.

“You need to start.” Gerard made a quiet noise and backed against the counter sadly. “What have you two been—uh—talking about lately?” His father asked, looking away and making Gerard feel more comfortable.

“M-many things,” Gerard stuttered.

“What things?” His father pressed, almost conversationally, but still very insistently. 

“Master…and Frankie. Mikey.”

“Mikey?” 

“I worry about Mikey,” Gerard said quietly. “He’s my…little brother.” 

“I’m worried about _you,_ Gerard.”

“Don’t be,” Gerard said quietly. “I’m okay,” he added even softer. His father patted his shoulder, unspoken words in the gesture, and Gerard sighed. “I’m writing a song…for Mikey and Frank to play. I want you to listen to it…when it’s ready.”

“A song?” His father asked, sounding like he was trying to sound interested. “What’s it called?” Gerard lowered his eyes and bit into his lip. 

“It doesn’t really…have a title yet.” His father just hummed. “It’s about…being lonely…strong…knowing who’s lying—things like that.”

“It’s probably really good. You were always good at writing.” His father patted his shoulder and then motioned for Gerard to follow him into the living room. Gerard went slowly, knowing that they were about to have ‘a talk.’ “So…can you tell me what you were thinking about out there?” He asked the instant Gerard sat down.

Gerard looked away and shook his head, frustrated and feeling cornered. 

“Come on…you need to talk about these things…”

“No I don’t. It’s private. Just…just forget it ever happened,” Gerard mumbled, not looking his father in the eye and trying to stand up from the couch. Before he could raise more than a few inches off of the seat, his father pushed him back down by his shoulder.

“Gerard…”

“What do you _think_ I was thinking, huh?” Gerard snapped. “I was thinking about Master. I was thinking about him fucking me. Why do you have to get into it? It’s embarrassing—it’s _gross_.” His father sighed…probably realizing his own idiocy for bring it up. Then another thought crossed Gerard’s brain and somehow slipped off of his tongue. “I miss him I think.”

“Miss him?”

“I think…” Gerard repeated absently. “I mean…he took _care_ of me.”

“He _raped_ you.” Gerard sighed and shook his head. It didn’t _seem_ that way to him. It just didn’t _seem_ that way. At a glance, yes…he understood how what had happened could be mistaken for rape, but he didn’t fight, and it didn’t hurt, and he really didn’t mind staying with his master…

“I still miss him. Dad, you’d miss someone too if—”

“I would _not_ miss someone who hurt me the way he hurt you, Gerard.”

“God, he didn’t _hurt_ me!” Gerard cried. “My _trainer_ hurt me. I don’t miss _him!_ I don’t miss the man who tortured me—I don’t miss the man who beat me every day, and ruined _every_ hope or dream I had!” Gerard caught on to the fact that his voice was escalating a lot more rapidly than it should, and that he was more than just shouting by that point. He saw that his anger and defensive instincts were fueling him more than thought, and were completely removing the filter from his mind. What he thought he spoke, without consideration. “I just miss the master who only slapped me a few times! Who only got rough when I really pissed him off, and who only broke my arm because I _made_ that boy kill himself and I don’t want to think about it anymore!”

Gerard caught his father’s confused and worried gaze and thought over his words, his blood suddenly rushing cold. He’d talked about the accident…the one that happened with Nicholas—Master’s _other_ whore. _Other_ , other whore…

But maybe that wasn’t why his father was staring—maybe he was just taken aback by the shouting, or the fact that Gerard didn’t consider having his arm broken as a reason to resent someone.

Surely his dad wasn’t staring at him because he’d heard him declare that he’d made Nicholas kill himself…

“What…what did you say, Gerard?” His father asked, exceedingly cautious. Gerard bit into his lower lip and swallowed hard.

“Don’t…don’t worry about it,” Gerard mumbled, feeling the blood rush his brain and seeing flashes of light in his vision. He felt like he might faint. He shifted slowly on the couch, starting to stand and moving slowly. “I don’t feel good—I want to lie down for a while.” He tried to take a step and stumbled.

“Gerard, just sit back down. Lay here. You’re going to fall.” His father grabbed his arm and pushed him back down onto the couch. 

It was a good idea. Gerard’s vision turned black shortly after that.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard awoke to the sound of voices—very _angry_ voices.

“You failed _all_ of them!? I can’t believe you, Michael!” Gerard sat up stiffly, trying to remember why he’d gone to sleep on the couch, but finding it irrelevant when he heard Mikey’s voice tremble as he tried to defend himself.

“Dad, it’s just because of everything that’s happened—”

“Oh, don’t use _Gerard_ as an excuse! Even kids who don’t do a damned thing in college classes pass with a D!”

“It’s not that easy!” Mikey argued. “I just couldn’t focus—and I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Maybe if you spent as much time on homework as you did coming up with these excuses—” Gerard got up quickly, ignoring the thrumming pain in his head as he stumbled towards the kitchen—the source of the noise—on weary legs.

“Dad, come on,” Mikey responded, sounding drained and disappointed. “Don’t do this. I—”

“You can’t focus on schoolwork, but you can focus enough to go out every night to play guitar?”

“For _Gerard!_ ” Mikey shouted. “For _Gerard,_ Dad! I play guitar for Gerard! To make him happy—I just do it to make him happy.”

“And you think using him as an excuse to fail your classes makes him happy?” Mikey sighed in either frustration or desperation. Gerard didn’t know which, but he was afraid to take the final step that would put him within sight of the two in the kitchen.

“Dad…” He sounded like he was pleading. “Come on, it’s…it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s not that big of a deal!? Do you know how much money you’ve wasted failing—”

“How can you take it so seriously!?” Mikey shouted in response.

“How can you _not_ take this seriously!?”

“Because it doesn’t matter—”

“How can you say—”

“After what happened to Gerard, how can you believe that this matters!? The guy who did this to him is still out there and you’re bitching at me about _nothing!_ What matters is getting Gerard better—”

“Stop using him as an excuse!”

“—and—”

“Stop it, Michael.”

“—and getting him revenge!”

“Revenge? God, Mikey, quit it already.”

“Yes, revenge! Those men can’t get away with this! They can’t _live_ after what they’ve done to him!”

“You’re changing the subject!”

“No I’m not! This is why I failed _everything! This_ is all I think about!” Mikey screamed. “ _All_ I think about. Dad, how is it not driving you insane like it’s driving _me_ insane? How do you not _care_ about what they did?”

“Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about him.”

“Yeah well…sometimes it feels like that.”

Gerard heard Mikey add something else onto the phrase under his breath before he heard footsteps leading away from the kitchen and then upstairs. 

All of his classes…Mikey had failed _all_ of his classes. 

Because of him. 

_Aw, Babe…aren’t you just glad to be home?_ He could just hear his master sneering it in his ear. _You ruin everything…you should’ve just stayed in your proper place. You should’ve_ died, _Babe. You should’ve accepted your_ fucking _fate._

Gerard swallowed hard and stepped into the kitchen, chancing a glance at his father who was glaring at the stairwell. 

“Dad?” Gerard managed to force out, not sure why he was calling attention on to himself. His father’s face softened before he turned to look at him.

“Woke you up with all of his screaming, didn’t he?” His father said, sighing and rubbing the back of his head roughly. 

“Actually,” Gerard mumbled, clearing his throat briefly. “I woke up when you were yelling…”

“Probably should have waited until you actually went to bed to have that conversation.” His father wouldn’t look at him. 

“Why did you yell at him like that? It wasn’t his fault…Dad, it was mine.” 

“It was not your fault that he didn’t study.”

“He couldn’t study because he kept thinking about me. He kept thinking about the things that _happened_ to me. If I didn’t talk about those things to him, he probably would’ve been able to focus.” His father sighed heavily. “Don’t blame Mikey. It’s not that big of a deal. He can take the classes over again.”

“It’s a lot of fuckin’ money for him to take those classes over again…” Gerard sighed and let a snide bit of rage overcome him for a moment.

“So use the money you saved on your grocery bill over the last eight years since I wasn’t here to waste it on junk food. Remember when you used to bitch at me for that?” Gerard slid through the kitchen and started down the steps to his bedroom. Part of him wanted to go to Mikey to make sure he was okay, but the more he thought of it the less it sounded wise. Mikey was upset, and the last person he probably wanted to see was the brother who had caused this mess.

It was his fault—Gerard’s fault.

If he hadn’t started the drugs, if he hadn’t gone out that _one_ night…everything would be fine. 

_Everything_ would be…

_…fine, Babe! It’s going to be_ fine! _Do you understand me?_ That was Master’s voice. Gerard swallowed hard as he took the last step down into his bedroom. Why was he hearing Master’s voice? _You’re fine!_

But he _wasn’t_ fine. He didn’t feel fine—his arm hurt like hell…

“No, it doesn’t,” Gerard said aloud, afraid to keep the words in his head. “You’re fine.”

_You’re going to be just_ fucking _fine!_

But there was that pain again. It was unmistakable. Sharp but dull all at the same time—explosive. Pulsating. 

Broken. It felt like his arm was broken.

“No it doesn’t, Gerard,” he told himself. “It’s in your head. You’re just thinking about it too much. Just put it out of your head.” He tried to sound reassuring to himself, wandering over to his desk and sitting down on the chair in front of it heavily. “Put it out of your mind…just write something. Think of something else until it goes away…”

_If you’d just behave and quit thinking that you’re something special—_

“Not there,” Gerard breathed, grabbing a piece of paper and trying to focus on how real it felt in his hands. “He’s not here…he’s not here.” He let out a shaking breath as he lifted his pen and started scribbling aimlessly.

He was focusing more on breathing than the words falling out of his pen…taking a breath, letting it go, remembering that he was alone down here. There was no one here with him. He was alone, just waiting for the nightmares to disappear before he did…Before he disappeared. 

Gerard didn’t want to see how far down he could sink before he vanished from view of the surface. He didn’t want to disappear again.

Not again…

With a soft whine, Gerard tried to become absorbed in his new project, but there was a static at the back of his mind that kept cutting in between each word he scribbled down.

_“You’re going to be fine, Gerard! A broken arm’s never killed anyone!”_ Gerard almost whimpered out that broken bones _have_ killed people. Blood poisoning…but he knew better than to speak.

Not that he could really form words in-between the explosions of pain. He could only whimper, scream, and sob. It hurt so much—his arm was _broken_ and his master had snapped the bone back into what he considered “place.”

_“You’re lucky I didn’t snap your neck, Babe! How dare you lay there and cry like this? Like you don’t_ appreciate _my mercy on you._ ” Gerard tried to whimper out an answer, but was slapped. He gave up and wept. 

He shouldn’t have gotten involved. He should have left the little wretch be…let him suffer. Or at least let him decide for himself to end it all.

_“Why’d you do it, huh, Babe? Why’d you take my new toy away from me? You’re not that young, you can’t take his place...Why would you do this to me? After all I’ve done…you made me lose my toy and twenty-five_ thousand _dollars. Do you know how much that is? That’s more than you’re worth.”_ Master had taken on a falsely inquisitive tone. 

“Master,” Gerard whimpered. 

_“Do you know how much that’s worth, Baby?”_

“Master, he wasn’t trained,” Gerard said with a sob, clutching his wounded arm and rubbing it gently even though it didn’t soothe the pain. “Master, he didn’t know what to do…”

“Gerard?” At the sound of his name, he flinched and pulled back from his desk and the paper he was hovering over. “Woah, easy.” It was Mikey’s voice, slightly rattled with humor. Not completely understanding of why his sudden appearance startled Gerard so badly. “You okay?” 

Gerard inhaled shakily and tried to calm himself. He thought he’d stopped himself from going into the flashback. He thought he’d stopped it…

“Gee? What’s wrong?”

“Just…just focused,” Gerard breathed, trying to slow the shaking that had overcome his limbs. For Mikey to be in his room now, to be speaking to him calmly and able to find humor…how long had he been in dreaming?

“Oh, hey…you’ve got another song done,” Mikey said, leaning over the chair that Gerard was sat in and tapping the paper. 

Gerard looked down at the desk and the sheet of paper that had scribbles in the shapes of stanzas all over it. 

“You okay?” Mikey asked again. “Gee, you look pale…”

“Just tired,” Gerard mumbled, reconnecting to the world around him—the one he was actually in. “Are _you_ okay, Mikey?” Gerard twisted around in his chair to look at his little brother. He looked stressed, but otherwise alright.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mikey asked, moving to stand a few paces away from Gerard’s chair. 

“Dad yelled at you.”

“He always yells at me—once you disappeared he had to find someone else to yell at.” Gerard lowered his eyes and glanced at the lyrics he’d written. “Sorry…I heard you two fighting a little bit ago. I thought I’d come down to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Gerard said quietly. “What are you going to do about school?” Mikey sighed heavily and chewed on his lower lip.

“Drop out…”

“What?” Gerard snapped. 

“Drop out, join a band…”

“Mikey, you need—” 

“Be in a band with my friends and have my big brother be the front man…”

“Front man?” Gerard mumbled. “Mikey…I’m not—”

“What else can I do? Gerard, we don’t have money for me to go to school anymore, I failed so I just lost my scholarship and the banks I got loans from are going to call on my loans in a few months…”

“Mikey, we can’t make a band—we can’t make _money_ with a band.” Gerard looked at Mikey nervously and then lowered his gaze.

Mikey needed money…and it was his fault that Mikey had failed those classes. Gerard knew of ways to get him money. Many, many ways. Ways more plausible than a stupid band. And he needed to crush those ideas of a band as quickly as possible. That was just something stupid—dangerous. A risk…

“I can get you money,” Gerard mumbled, looking down at his desk and the lyrics he’d written. He wanted to crumple them up and burn them—kill them before they could cause any more harm or spark any other bad ideas…

“I don’t want you to get me money—and I know what you’re thinking so stop it.” Gerard sighed and looked at his desk. “Gerard, I’m good at playing the guitar and it’s a lot of fun. I don’t want to do anything else.”

“It’s stupid. Stop it.”

“It’s not stupid,” Mikey argued. “Look, I want to be in a band. Ray says he knows some people, Frank knows some people, too. If we’re good enough, we can get a gig and some notoriety—”

“It won’t work!” Gerard stood up from his desk and looked Mikey in the eye. There was nothing but apathy in them…How could Mikey be so careless? Didn’t he see that he was throwing everything away for a stupid reason—an unnecessary risk.

“So what?” Mikey answered in a sort of dead tone of voice. 

“So _wh—_ ”

“It’s what I want to do. I always thought about it when I was younger. It’s my dream. You know what it’s like to have to give up on your dreams…” Gerard sighed and looked away from Mikey quickly. 

Yeah, he knew what it was like to have all of his dreams stolen from him. Every hope crushed, every opportunity slaughtered.

“Fine,” Gerard mumbled. “If you really want to have a band, then do it. I won’t try to talk you out of it, just leave me out.”

“Why? You’re writing lyrics—you’re doing it for Frank. Why won’t you do it for me?”

“I don’t do it just for Frank.”

“And I don’t play just for you…” Mikey said softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, I started to play a few years ago, but Dad didn’t like the noise so I stopped. I didn’t have anyone to play with anyway. Now, you come back and the guy who saved you plays, and his friend plays, and they’ve both got connections…it’s too good to be a coincidence. You can sing, you can _write._ ”

“But these songs are _private,_ Mikey! I don’t want anyone else to hear them.”

“So write songs you don’t mind sharing,” Mikey suggested, his tone becoming lighter as he saw that he was winning the battle. “And to be honest, no one’s going to know exactly what you wrote about except the people close to you. For the people who listen to us, they’d just make their own assumptions. Some may be right, others will be wrong—how does it matter? If they can relate to it, you could help them start to feel better.”

“Mikey…this is ridiculous,” Gerard mumbled, sitting back down at his desk and scratching his nails nervously over the lyrics he hadn’t read since they left his hand in the midst of a flashback. “A band?”

“Why is that ridiculous? A lot of people start bands.”

“Yeah, and end up playing in their parent’s garage until they’re forty. No.”

“Well, what if I promise we won’t end up being forty and playing in Mom and Dad’s garage?”

“Yeah, we’ll end up in Ray’s…or something,” Gerard hissed bitterly. 

“If you’re enjoying yourself, why would it matter if you’re just in a garage band?”

“Because it won’t mean anything!” Gerard spat. “I’m not giving out these lyrics for one or two people to hear and then forget about. They’re too personal. I won’t do it. I won’t embarrass myself like that.”

“Well…How about this, can we make a deal?” Mikey asked, creeping back over to Gerard’s desk and leaning down on his older brother’s shoulders. Gerard grunted. “You come practice with us—write a few songs you’re comfortable enough to perform…and if Frank and Ray can set up a gig with more than…more than twenty people, will you sing for us?”

“Can I get drunk first?” Gerard asked.

“No, but I’ll give you a hug and call you the best big brother in the world…that’s the same, right?” Gerard groaned and shook his head. This all just seemed like a perfectly bad idea…

( ) ( ) ( )

For Frank, having Gerard stay the night was always a reward…even when Gerard just clung to him and hardly spoke three words. It made him feel needed, wanted. And to have Gerard give him this sort of affection willingly—not because Frank was his ‘master’—was one of the biggest ego trips in Frank’s life. 

They were sitting together on the couch, Gerard resting his head on Frank’s shoulder and holding Frank’s arm in a gentle embrace. He was being more lovey than usual, making Frank wonder if something had happened at home. Gerard didn’t seem upset though…just unusually clingy.

“I love you, Frankie,” Gerard mumbled softly, nuzzling Frank’s shoulder and sighing softly. 

“I love you, too,” Frank said back, leaning his head over onto Gerard’s. Gerard squirmed slightly so Frank straightened himself, letting Gerard resituate himself. 

“I love you,” Gerard said again, pushing his lips against Frank’s neck in what might have been a kiss but wasn’t. Frank sighed. “Love you,” Gerard said again, squirming more until he’d managed to get himself in a position to straddle Frank’s lap to where their chests were close to touching. He sat like that for a while, facing him and giving him an awkward, lovesick smile as he slowly wound his arms around Frank’s shoulders.

“I love you, too,” Frank repeated, moving his hands to rest on Gerard’s hips to keep him steady. Gerard made a soft sound and closed his eyes before pressing his lips against Frank’s gently, breaking the kiss quickly but keeping his mouth close—enticing Frank to take the lead and kiss back.

It was the sort of request Frank didn’t have the capacity to deny. He leaned forward and caught Gerard’s lips again, nipping gently at his lower lip until he opened his mouth and let Frank’s tongue inside. 

Gerard made a quiet sound and slid forward in Frank’s lap, pressing down on his groin and then bucking his hips suggestively while still sucking Frank’s tongue gently. Frank pressed up against him, not completely sure of what Gerard was wanting—handjob? blowjob? dry humping?—but ready to give him anything.

He wasn’t so messed up now. It didn’t feel so wrong to kiss him anymore, and he didn’t feel like he was taking advantage of this beautiful man. Gerard would say what he wanted, and Gerard would say what he didn’t want.

“What do you want, Beautiful?” Frank asked, taking one of his hands off of Gerard’s hip in order to stroke from his platinum hair down to his cheek. Gerard looked at him as if confused, but his flushed cheeks and open, panting mouth making him look more needy. “What do you want?” Frank asked again before kissing Gerard once again, deeply. “I’ll give you anything.” 

“Everything,” Gerard whimpered, kissing the corner of Frank’s mouth and whimpering quietly. “Oh, please, Frankie. I’m ready—I want to.”

“Gerard…are you—”

“ _Please,_ Frankie. _Please._ I don’t want to beg, but _please_. I’m ready—I’m not scared. I’ll be okay—want me.”

“I want you,” Frank said back, kissing Gerard gently and running his fingers through his hair. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It won’t hurt,” Gerard whimpered, moving to kiss Frank’s neck and licking a stripe from the collar of his shirt to the tip of his chin. “I’ll be good—you won’t regret it. Please.”

“Okay,” Frank breathed, trying to decide if he was the luckiest person on earth because Gerard still wanted him after all of this time, or if he needed to try to talk Gerard out of it for his own good. He was still a victim of a cruel assault—still devastated by being used as a sex object and nothing more—but he was also a free and on the path of recovery. 

It was so confusing, and so hard to decide whether it was right or wrong when this beautiful man was rutting against him—grinding down on him with urgency. The right thing to do seemed to be giving in, taking him to the bedroom and making love to him until he no longer felt the need. But…was that even okay?

“Okay, Frankie, thank you.” Gerard kissed him again and moaned softly. “Thank you...” 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard crawled across the mattress, but no matter how many times he tried, Frank rolled him back onto his back whenever he got on all fours. 

“I want to see your eyes,” Frank kept saying. “I want to know if it’s hurting you this time.” After a few tries, Gerard finally stayed on his back and opened his legs for Frank to move in between them. 

“Anything you want,” Gerard sighed, spreading his legs farther. “I do everything you say.”

“No,” Frank mumbled. “You do what you want to.” Gerard leaned up and kissed him softly—liking the fact that they could kiss without tongue and still have it feel intimate. Master was never that way.

“I want you to take me…”

“I know,” Frank said quietly. “I will,” he added, making Gerard smile and blush faintly at the almost confident tone of his voice. “As long as you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Gerard muttered. “Come on.” He kissed him again, using tongue this time to set things in motion. Frank seemed to waste no time ridding himself of his shirt, and Gerard copied suit, throwing his to the opposite side of the bed than Frank.

Gerard laid back down after that, preferring to let Frank do the rest of the work to undress both of them and sighed as Frank leaned down to kiss his neck. 

“I love you, Beautiful,” Frank whispered, making Gerard’s eyes close at the sweetness of the words. No one said things like this to him except for Frank. No one had ever said such kind things…

Gerard’s eyes slid back open as he head Frank open the drawer of the bedside table, reaching for the bottle of lubricant that was no longer the same brand as his master. He could tell it was different this time by the smell as Frank poured it on his fingers.

“I love you,” Gerard said in a sort of whimper as Frank pressed one of his fingers inside gently after running a smooth hand up Gerard’s thigh to get him to spread his legs a little farther. 

“I love you, too,” Frank whispered in response, moving his finger gently before adding another. Gerard barely reacted beyond another heavy sigh. At the third finger, however, he whimpered softly and fisted his hands into the bed sheets. “You okay, Gerard?” Frank asked, bending down to kiss Gerard’s cheek beneath one of his closed eyes. Gerard nodded his head and arched his back a little as Frank began to move the fingers in and out.

“I want you,” Gerard whimpered. “I’m ready—I _want_ you.” 

“Okay,” Frank whispered, pulling his fingers out slowly. As he readied himself, rolling on the condom and covering it with more lube than could ever be necessary, Gerard let out a heavy breath and opened his legs a little more. “Sure you’re ready?” Frank asked as he positioned himself, meeting Gerard’s eyes to scan them for the truth no matter what his mouth said.

“Yes,” Gerard grumbled. “Don’t make me beg—come on. I _want!_ ” His eyes showed that want, that lust, as well as a jagged slash of fear. Just as Frank began pressed in, Gerard’s eyes quivered with both pain and worry. Frank didn’t want to move until they were gone.

“What’s the matter?” Gerard closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, what’s the matter?” Frank asked again, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Worried that…that you won’t like me,” Gerard mumbled. “I’m fine, though. Keep going—I’m fine.” Frank kissed him again, softly and in an affectionate way before pushing in a little further. He sighed at the heat and the small noise of discomfort Gerard made. He wanted to ask again if Gerard was okay when the next push made Gerard whimper, but he was afraid that calling attention onto the noise would make Gerard go completely quiet—make him too self-conscious to express himself or any feeling.

After pressing in all of the way—and apparently missing Gerard’s prostate by a mile based on the unsatisfied grunt he received in response—Frank pulled out to the tip and tried again with a different angle.

A sigh, this time, of dissatisfaction and Frank began to wonder if there was something wrong with Gerard’s anatomy…he wasn’t going to blame his inability to hit that one special spot on his own lack of skill.

On the third try he finally received a shuddery breath, and the fourth an actual moan. At first, Frank had thought something had gone wrong on the fifth thrust, but apparently it was the opposite. 

Just as he’d been trying to keep himself from thinking that he had had tighter fucks in the past, and that he’d had lovers a lot easier to please—though none that it pleased _him_ so much to please—Gerard cried out in this strange muffled way and latched on to him tightly, using both arms and legs. As his nails starting digging in to Frank’s back, his legs pushed him deeper, extracting another loud cry that faded into a moan…and then an apology.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard mumbled, retracting his nails from Frank’s skin and loosen his legs’ grip.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” Frank grunted back, moving a little quicker and letting the explosions that came from the friction ebb the mounting awkwardness of the situation. To ease Gerard’s guilt, still apparent by his quiet, sympathetic-sounding whimpers, Frank moved his hand between their bodies in order to stroke the other man’s erection.

The surprised yet appreciative sound Gerard made told Frank that he wasn’t used to this…wasn’t used to being acknowledged as anything other an a toy to give his masters pleasure.

Gerard began to meet his thrusts, but whenever Frank would brush against that spot it was as if the other man gave up all discretion. It was the same reaction each time—a loud moan, a new series of scratch marks littering Frank’s back, a sigh and an apology.

Next time, Frank was going to remember to wear a shirt…

“I’m close—is that okay?” Gerard whimpered suddenly. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Frank breathed back, thrusting a little faster until Gerard made a noise of pain. He began to pump Gerard a little faster, just to help him over the edge a little faster—not that he needed the encouragement.

“Frankie,” Gerard panted, squirming under Frank’s touch and clenching his muscles in a way so intense that there was no way for it to be unintentional. “Frankie—I’m close. I’m close…” He sounded close to tears at that point.

“It’s okay, Gee—”

“No—that’s Mikey’s name for me!” Gerard whimpered. 

“Sorry, Babe,” Frank sighed and stroked him faster, quickening his own thrusts to get him near the edge so it wasn’t an eternity after Gerard had finished that he was finally done…

Frank found his back being literally scratched open at the moment of Gerard’s release, but the increase in pressure around his dick nearly erased the pain from memory. It was four thrusts later that Frank finished, coming with Gerard’s name on his tongue. 

He managed to collapse beside Gerard instead of on top of him, and tossed the condom where he hoped the trashcan was. He put an arm over Gerard’s chest in a sort of half-hug and sighed as he listened to the other man catch his breath. 

“Frank?” Gerard whispered after several minutes of laying the dim room. Frank hummed sleepily. “Was I…was I okay?”

“The best ever,” Frank mumbled back, trying to make it sound sincere.

“But I scratched you—that’s why I should take it on my stomach, I _scratch_ , Frank…” Frank couldn’t see where Gerard was getting his energy from.

“It’s fine…get some sleep.” Gerard whimpered. “I love you…” He didn’t get an answer so he decided that it would be best if he forced himself to shake off the post-sex stupor. “Gerard?” He asked, lifting his head off the pillow and removing his arm from its place over the other man’s chest. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Gerard whimpered, sounding like he was crying.

“No you’re not,” Frank stated, sitting up and pulling the sheets around both himself and Gerard’s. 

“I’m fine…” Gerard repeated, sounding worse.

“Did I hurt you?” Frank asked, reaching down to stroke Gerard’s cheek. 

“No…I’m just…happy.”

“No you’re not…what’s the matter, Honey?”

“I just...Frank, I can’t explain it—I just want to cry.” Gerard whimpered softly and rolled over onto his side. With a sigh, Frank moved closer to him and rubbed his shoulder gently.

“Do you…usually cry afterwards?” Frank asked, wanting to get the cause of this problem so they could get on to cuddling and sleep but not liking to dig in places that cased Gerard pain.

“It’s not that,” Gerard argued, sniffing and pulling the sheets tighter around himself. “I thought I was going to die there,” he sobbed, the tears finally overcoming him. “I was ready to die with my master, but now…now I just want to be with you and you’re not like master. If you get bored you’ll leave me.”

“Oh…Gerard, that’s not true. I’m not going to leave you…” Frank rubbed Gerard’s shoulder a little harder, trying to emphasize his sincerity. Gerard only buried his face farther against the pillow. “I’m not going to get bored with you. You’re not some toy to play with and forget about—I’ll never treat you like that. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” Gerard argued. “I was bad—that was really bad…and I scratched you, and it wasn’t—”

“Gerard,” Frank interjected. “Yeah, that wasn’t the best performance in the world but we’ll get better—I mean…I’m still figuring you out.” Frank sighed and looked over the blankets aimlessly. “We’ll get better, and pretty soon we’ll be so in synch that before you can even think that you want me to kiss you, I’ll be kissing you—and I’ll know where you want to be touched and where you don’t want to be…” Gerard said nothing, but Frank couldn’t hear him sobbing so had to have been listening. “You have to give me more than one chance before you accuse me of bad sex,” Frank said, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, I forgot to take my performance enhancing pills this morning—sue me.” Gerard giggled, but it sounded half-way like a sob.

“I should’ve been better for you,” he mumbled after a moment.

“Gerard, you we’re _fine_.” Frank insisted. “I was the one not doing the job right. Now get some sleep,” he mumbled as he laid back down beside Gerard with his chest touching the other’s back, “before you blame yourself for the extinction of polar bears…”

“The polar bears are extinct now!?” Gerard asked, literally sitting up in bed and looking at Frank with horror.

“…No,” Frank answered, watching him with some amusement. Sex was horrible, but oh my god, the disappearance of big white animals erased that fact from memory. If only it could repair Frank’s confidence… 

“Then why would you say that?” Gerard groaned, sounding like a child, as he lay back down stiffly and cuddled against Frank’s chest. Frank put an arm over him and held him closer. “I love you,” Gerard mumbled, snuggling closer. 

“Love you, too,” Frank answered, sighing softly. Gerard sighed, but the breath sounded shaky. “Gerard, are you—”

“Frankie, can we a puppy?” Gerard asked with a startlingly steady voice. “A big white one and name it Bear?...for the polar bears.”

“I…I don’t have time for a puppy, Gerard,” Frank answered, wounded by the thought. He wanted a dog, he wanted a dog so bad—he had the money for one, the room for a small one—but he’d learned that it was an impossible dream. The dog would spend almost all of its time alone because Frank had to work at ass o’clock in the morning and stay till fuck o’clock at night.

“I’ll watch it while you’re at work—please? A fluffy white puppy, Frank—and we’ll name it after the _polar bears_ …”

“Maybe,” Frank stammered, holding Gerard a little closer. Damn him. Just damn him for putting those ideas back into Frank’s head…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had known that changing the topic to dogs would get Frank’s mind off of everything else. He wanted a dog so bad that it almost seemed to hurt him. 

But Frank’s distraction soon led to Frank’s unconsciousness and Gerard’s ability to cry without being interrogated about it. Master never cared when he cried—except for when it kept him awake…why did Frank have to be so difficult?

He couldn’t help it that he was overwhelmed—scared because he didn’t know what would happen when his father found out about this, worried that Frank would never want to again after his back had been scratched to hell because Gerard can’t control himself…happy because Frank still wanted to cuddle, satisfied because he’d finally been able to give Frank consent and go through with the act…guilty because he’d only ever been with Master and Frank wasn’t him.

There was going to be no escaping that fact. Master was going to pursue him until he was dead. He’d always have that man and the trainer before him lingering in the back of his mind. Flashbacks would haunt him, nightmares would terrorize him.

As far as his trauma went, he would die in his trainer’s basement and, if not there, in his former master’s bed…or the back of the auction house. He would never be with Frank all of the way, and he’d never make it back home—not completely. 

When he shut his eyes he saw is Master’s bedroom. Saw that the sheets were messy and were in need of being washed but that there wasn’t enough time to do that before Master got home.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Frank…When sleep fought to take him, he knew he’d be carried off to that other, awful place. 

When he’d lived with Master, at least, he’d had pleasant dreams once and a while. Now, he had nothing but nightmares. It made him cry because he knew he’d never be free…

He _should’ve_ died in that place…but, god, he was so happy to be here.


	18. How the Misery Begins

Dinner was almost silent…probably because there were two guests over and the only person who seemed happy about it was Mikey. In some strange attempt to get Ray over his trepidation about Gerard, and to get Gerard over his jealousy of the attention Frank gave Ray, Mikey decided to invite the third guitarist over. Ray refused to come without Frank, and Frank refused to come without Ray—which was what got Ray permission to set foot in the house anyway. 

Gerard wanted to see Frank, and if Dad wasn’t going to let Ray come over then Frank wouldn’t. That would have made it an entire week—a full _seven days_ —that Gerard would have gone without seeing his boyfriend, his _lover._ That was just unheard of.

So, the two parents ate quietly, occasionally passing an annoyed glance to Mikey or a skeptical look to Ray—the _other_ man who had, in their minds, keeping their son from them. Gerard sat rigidly in his seat, giving Ray filthy looks every now and then whenever he wasn’t shoving food in his mouth or cuddling up on Frank in an almost nauseating performance of ownership. Frank would look at Ray either reassuringly or apologetically, and Mikey just ate in silence, looking neither cheerful nor unhappy.

“Gerard,” his mother started. “Do you want more? You’re almost finished…” Gerard glanced at her in a strange way and leaned over onto Frank. Or at least it looked strange to her. Frank knew this behavior. It was possessiveness.

“No, I’m not hungry,” he answered, glancing from her to Ray and then glaring briefly before closing his eyes and kissing Frank’s cheek.

Frank sighed and turned his face away, making Gerard whimper loudly in a desperate, worried way. He sounded almost traumatized.

“Frankie…” 

“Finish your dinner,” Frank answered quietly. Gerard whimpered again and looked at him sadly. 

_Always_ when Ray was around. _Always._ He had to act up…get himself into trouble. Start a fight, embarrass himself, end up depressed…

“Ray, Mikey says you play guitar, too,” Donna called out suddenly, repeating common knowledge but starting a conversation before someone else started a fight. 

“Yes,” Ray said, hardly any louder than a whisper. He disguised his nerves by clearing his throat and trying the answer again. “Yeah. I—er—I’ve been practicing since I was a kid.”

“He’s really good at it,” Mikey mumbled before taking a bite almost too large to chew.

“Not as good as _my_ Frankie or my little brother,” Gerard muttered playfully, leaning onto Frank again.

“Probably better than both of us combined, Gerard,” Frank stated as he gently pushed Gerard back upright. 

“Not possible.”

“You’ve never heard either of us play,” Frank argued, hoping that if he was a little meaner Gerard would stop behaving so…so much like he used to. So possessive. 

“And no one’s heard me sing since I was a kid, but you’re all convinced that I can.” Frank sighed and rubbed at his face with his hands. This was turning into a larger disaster than he’d expected. He’d thought Gerard would be over this. 

“It’s because your voice is just so pleasant to hear, Gerard,” his father mumbled, sounding sarcastic. Gerard glared at him and leaned onto Frank’s shoulder again.

“Would you stop?” Frank asked snappily, leaning away. Gerard whimpered and glanced towards Ray. “They know you own me, you don’t have to lay on me to prove it,” he stated firmly. Gerard stared at him for a moment in confusion, blinked, and then tilted his head. “Yeah, you own me. Satisfied?”

“Don’t…don’t use that wording,” Gerard’s father said warily. Frank anticipated a response like that, but he had a feeling that the words would catch Gerard’s interest and calm him a little.

Gerard’s logical side was worried about being replaced…if he “owned” Frank, that fear dissipated because Frank could never leave him. It meant Ray couldn’t take him…

The thought was meant to make Gerard feel smug. 

It worked.

( ) ( ) ( )

After dinner, Mikey had gone upstairs with Ray to show him some…chords…he’d been working on. Or at least Gerard thought “chords” was the word for the guitar music. He didn’t so much like the idea of Ray roaming through his house, but if he was on the second floor he was farthest from his room—the basement. He didn’t want Ray in his room. It was a place for him, his family, and Frankie…

“I wish you’d be nicer to him, Gerard,” Frank mumbled as he sat down beside Gerard on the bed. “He’s not mean, and he’s not interested in taking me from you. You don’t have to be so rude to him. It made dinner really awkward.”

“So hit me,” Gerard snapped. “That’ll make you feel better.” Frank sighed and looked at him sadly. It made Gerard feel almost ashamed. Frank had a point. If they were going to make a band so Mikey could make some money, he’d have to begin to get along with Ray…but he was so _jealous_ of Ray. Ray could see Frank whenever. Gerard had to wait for permission. 

And Ray had known him longer…and he and Frank both shared an interest in guitars…all Frank and Gerard had in common—that Gerard could see—seemed to be their interest in one another.

Jealous….Gerard felt jealous.

“You’re the one who hits me, remember?” Frank asked. Gerard grunted and turned his face away. “Do you want to come over this weekend? I have Saturday and Sunday off work and Ray’s going to be working so we won’t have practice. Mikey suggested the three of us have a party.”

Gerard was confused. Why would Mikey be wanting to spend time with _his_ boyfriend? Frank was _his_. Mikey knew that…

“What kind…of a party?” Gerard asked nervously, scooting closer to Frank and nudging his arm. 

“Just some music, probably. And pizza and chips and pop. Guy stuff.”

“Guy stuff,” Gerard repeated. Alcohol probably…which would give Ray or even _Mikey_ the idea to steal his boyfriend from him.

“If you want to. I won’t make you come.”

“But you’ll still be with them.” Frank sighed.

“Gerard, don’t be jealous. You’re the man I love.” Gerard grunted. “Sweetheart…Why don’t you believe me? What can I do to prove it?”

His sad tone, in combination with the depressed look on his face, made Gerard’s defenses drop a little. 

“Do you want me to quit playing guitar with Ray and your brother? I can stop…I don’t want to make you feel insecure.” 

“N-no,” Gerard mumbled. “Keep playing. You like playing…”

“But I _love_ you. And it bothers you that I spend so much time with your brother and Ray.”

“You’re…allowed to have other friends,” Gerard said quietly, his jealousy starting to make him feel ashamed. “And Mikey needs a band so he can get money.”

“Gerard, it’ll be hard to get money from a band at the start…we gotta talk him out of this idea.” Gerard nodded rapidly. “Or at least get him to make it a back-up plan.”

“I’m scared to sing,” Gerard mumbled, leaning his head over onto Frank’s shoulder. 

“You don’t have to sing,” Frank said soothingly. “We’re not going to force you to sing.”

“You can use my songs,” Gerard said quietly. “If no one knows I wrote them they won’t know what the lyrics are about.” He shifted on the bed in order to bury his face in Frank’s chest. “And if we got famous…Master would see me, so I really _can’t_ sing.” Frank wrapped his arms around Gerard’s shoulders tightly and nuzzled the top of his head.

“Don’t be scared of him. If we got famous, we’d have body guards to kill him if he ever tried to touch you again.”

“But he could _see_ me! I know he won’t hurt me. I’m not his anymore so he can’t…he just _won’t._ ” 

“He’s already hurting you and he’s not even here,” Frank said with a heavy sigh.

“Well…I just don’t want to sing.”

“So don’t sing, Honey,” Frank said softly. “Be our ghost writer…”

“But then Ray wins…”

“How the hell does _Ray_ win?” Frank asked in a tone of utter disbelief. 

“Because he gets to be with you more than me…”

“Gerard, I’ve told you before. There is _nothing_ going on between me and _Ray._ He’s just my friend—my _straight_ friend! Do you want to meet his _girlfriend?_ ” 

“Girlfriend?” Gerard repeated. If Ray already had a girlfriend, why would he try to take Frank? Wasn’t one person enough? …then again, Master had three whores at any given time. Why wouldn’t Ray want two? But a female _and_ a male? That was different…

“Yes. Ray’s girlfriend…or are you going to throw coffee on her?” Gerard narrowed his eyes and pulled away from Frank quickly. 

“It was a fucking accident,” he hissed. Frank sighed heavily.

“I know—it’s just…Gerard, you’re really _mean_ to other people when you’re with me. Why?”

“Because I get jealous,” Gerard groaned.

“Why?” Frank pressed.

“Because…because they’re all fine and I’m messed up…and who wants to date someone who’s as messed up as me?”

“Gerard, I _love_ you,” Frank asserted. “Issues and all— _possessiveness_ and all! But you need to stop this. Your parents are gonna think Ray hurt you…Hell, they _already_ think he hurt you.”

“Well, why do you have to bring him to _my_ house?” Gerard asked. “I live here—I’m safe here with you, Mom, Mikey, and Dad…No one else has ever been here since I got home…now he’s here.”

“So you’re upset because Ray’s in your house, when you’ve never had anyone you don’t know and _trust_ in your house?” Frank asked with a tone of sincerity. 

“Trust,” Gerard repeated. “And I don’t want him around you.”

“That’s because he’s my _friend_ , Gerard—you’re going in circles. You’re mad because he’s here, you’re mad because he’s with me, you say you mind, you say you don’t mind him. You’re _hurting_ me,” Frank emphasized. Gerard whimpered and leaned onto Frank’s shoulder again.

“I’m confused,” Gerard mumbled. “I just…I feel trapped.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Frank asked, petting Gerard’s hair softly.

“There’s nothing to talk about. That’s the thing—everyone knows what’s wrong with me and why I’m upset all the time. What can I say? I have nightmares and I have flashbacks. I remember Master and I remember my trainer and I can’t sleep and I can’t stay awake and nothing can help. Talking about it doesn’t help. Dying would help,” Gerard said, hardly any louder than a whisper. Frank clutched onto him tightly.

“Don’t say that. It would kill _me_ …It would kill your parents.”

“It probably wouldn’t end afterwards anyway,” Gerard said softly. “You can sleep in a coffin…but the past ain’t through with you…” Frank sighed and nuzzled Gerard’s head gently. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard crept upstairs to join everyone else, Frank following behind him slowly. He spotted Ray in the living room and stepped towards him with his head lowered as if he was a dog reporting to its master after being scolded. He sat down on the couch between Ray and Frank, looked awkward for several minutes while everyone else tried to start a conversation, and then leaned his head onto Ray’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Gerard said quietly. Frank let out a heavy sigh and Gerard’s father rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Gerard,” Ray responded, stiffening. “How’s…how’s it going?”

“I’m sorry…I’ll be nice.”

“It’s fine, Gerard,” Ray replied, looking to Frank who shrugged. 

“Mikey says you play better than Frank…play _guitar_ better than Frank.”

“I-I don’t know about that,” Ray said nervously. “Frank plays his own way. I think he’s better than me.”

“So you both think you’re better than my brother then?” Gerard asked, sitting up only to lean on Mikey instead. He looked playful instead of angry. 

“I’m just a beginner, Gee,” Mikey said, leaning over a little as if trying to get Gerard off of him. Gerard just leaned on him more. “I kinda _do_ suck…”

“I think you’re better than Frankie,” Gerard said, tilting his head so he could look Mikey in the eye—albeit upside down. “You’re cuter than Frankie.”

“Gerard,” his father said, almost firmly. 

“Cuz you look a _little_ like me!” He finished the statement with a series of hysteric giggles that Frank had come to associate with alcohol and drug highs. Mikey chuckled softly at the near theatrical display—but was abruptly silenced when Gerard twisted around and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. “And I’m the cutest fucker on Earth—so that makes you… _Second_ Cutest! My equal—I love you.” He wrapped his arms around Mikey in a strange hug and nuzzled his shoulder.

“Love you, too, Gee,” Mikey said, giving his mother a confused stare and slowly returning the hug.

“So I’m gonna get you your money,” Gerard said softly. Everyone was quiet.

“Gerard, that’s—”

“I wanna cuddle,” Gerard complained, sighing and looking back at Ray but keeping himself wrapped around Mikey. “Mikey—you’re bony…at least Frank has some _fat._ ”

“Did you smoke crack while you were in your room?” Mikey asked, obviously making a joke. Gerard seemed to be the only one who got it because his dad barked something cruel at him for saying it. The reprimand was lost in Gerard’s giggle.

Frank felt that he knew this behavior. 

Gerard wasn’t being possessive of Frank anymore, so he must’ve decided that Ray wasn’t a threat to him. Now he was being possessive of Mikey. Before long, it would be his mother he’d try to keep Ray away from. And then maybe even his dad.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard waited for Mikey to finally fall asleep before he slid out of his brother’s bed and crept down the stairs and down farther into his bedroom. He tried not to think as he changed his clothes into the best he thought he had. Tight jeans, clean Converse shoes, and then a black, fitted t-shirt that was a little too small.

It was cold out, but he couldn’t wear a jacket or his favorite sweater. Not where he was going… After getting dressed he went back upstairs and to the bathroom where his mother kept her makeup. He put eye liner, not looking himself in the eye as he did it and almost too repulsed to even look at himself when it was done.

Mikey needed the money, he told himself, and he couldn’t get it for him by singing in a band or writing songs. After putting mascara on one eye, he started to sob and sank to his knees, setting the tube down on the counter as he went and covering his eyes. 

He kept his _sniveling_ quiet, remembering the way he used to cry like this before his master came home when he’d first been purchased. He was inexperienced then, intimidated by being owned and scared of every movement his master made. He felt so pathetic—knowing what he had to do and knowing he had no choice but to do it.

Gerard sat on the floor sniffing and wiping his eyes—smearing his makeup—for over an hour before finally reminding himself that Mikey needed money and he was the only one who could get it. He got up, used his mom’s makeup remover to clean off his face and started again—re-lining his eyes and putting the mascara on both eyes. 

After that he quit thinking and left the house.

Everything after that was programmed into his mind. He knew where to go. He knew what side of town and what buildings to stand by to get picked up and not caught. The only questions he’d hear that night were “what do you do” and “how much will it cost.” All he had to say that night—aside from a price—was “everything.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey woke up to the sounds of someone being violently ill, and opened his eyes in time to see his older brother get sick in the hallway. Through his initial repulsion, he felt great concern and was also overwhelmed with a sense that something was just…not right.

“Gerard?” He asked, getting out of bed. Gerard took one glance at him, one horrified glance, and hurried into the bathroom, clutching his stomach in agony. “Gerard!” Mikey followed him, taking care not to step in the mess on the floor. Gerard had made it to the toilet, but nothing else was coming up except for spit—but Gerard kept gagging nonetheless. “Hey, what’s the matter?” Mikey asked, sitting down beside him on the floor and rubbing his back gently. 

By that point, their parents’ bedroom door had creaked open.

“Mikey?” Their mother asked sleepily. “Oh, ew…did you get sick, Honey? Oh—Gerard!” At the sound of her voice, her oldest son managed to find something else to regurgitate. When she came over to him, hurrying through the hall, he leaned away from her touch and moaned. “What happened?”

“Just sick,” Gerard sobbed. “Just sick—just sick…”

“You’re wearing my makeup—it’s running everywhere…Gerard, did you go out last night?” As she mentioned it, Mikey began to notice things—the smell of sweat that lingered on him, the faint scent of alcohol, and the makeup than ran down his cheeks all the way to his jaw in some streaks. “Gerard—you _didn’t!?_ ”

“Mommy, I don’t feel good,” Gerard cried out pathetically. She looked at him firmly for several seconds and then gave up—sinking to the floor beside Mikey and rubbing Gerard’s shoulder. “I’m hurt,” he whimpered. “I’m hurt…”

“Were you out last night, Honey?” She asked, massaging his shoulder and making him whimper more before he nodded. “Well where did you go? What were you doing?” 

“Mommy…” The youthful talk distracted her, Mikey noticed. It did not, however, deter her husband who had appeared in the doorway.

“Where were you last night, Gerard?” Gerard gasped and then gagged a little more. “ _Answer_ me.”

“Daddy…”

“Answer!”

“Dad I’m hurt,” Gerard sobbed, looking at him with legitimate fear. Wherever he’d been, Mikey realized, it had to have been some place bad. Some place he didn’t want anyone to know about at all.

“Where were you last night, Gerard?”

“Don’t yell at him,” his wife said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder briskly. 

“Where were you, Gerard? I bet you were out partying with your damned boyfriend—got you drunk, didn’t he? Fucked you, didn’t he!? That’s why you’re hurt?” Gerard made a brief sound of agony and looked away. The words just made Mikey livid.

“Stop it!” Mikey shouted. “If Gerard and Frank have sex it’s their business—he’s an adult. You don’t yell at him for it! And besides, you don’t know that’s what happened!” Gerard moaned and leaned away from the touch on his shoulder. “Why would you yell at him right now? You can tell he’s sick!” Gerard made another sad sound and Mikey glanced at him, watching as Gerard leaned farther and farther over. He must’ve blacked out because he didn’t make a sound when he slumped over and slammed his head on the edge of the tub on his way down to the floor.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard woke up in his own bed, dressed in his pajamas and with the remnants of the sticky makeup gone from his face. He sniffed, smelled nothing of his previous tears or vomit so he believed himself to have been asleep—or unconscious—for a long time. 

He was alone, but he could hear voices upstairs. His body hurt badly, reminders of the previous night, a night he didn’t want to repeat but knew he had to…and soon. Maybe even tonight. Best to get it over with fast.

Slowly, he sat up. The back of his throat hurt from more than vomiting, and his head was spinning with more than guilt and fear. 

“Ow,” he whimpered to himself, feeling every muscle in his body growl in protest of his movements. He got out of bed, almost loving the familiarity of the aches and pains. He remembered nights when Master would be too rough with him and he’d feel a pain similar to this. 

Gerard slipped over to his desk and pulled open the drawer, shoving aside papers, pens, and coloured pencils to find an envelope he’d stuffed with money. This time as he counted it—after looking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone—he didn’t feel nauseated. 

Seven hundred dollars—more than he was worth. But that was what he’d acquired over the night. 

He smiled softly—shyly. It was a fake smile and part of him knew it. A smile to cover up the fact that he was still disgusted with himself for what he’d done.

Sex for money. Prostitution. Well, at least he was getting paid to be raped this time.

He wondered how much he’d make for Mikey if he sold himself for real. Sure, he was old now, but his tooth was fixed so he was no longer a medical expense.

_But you cheated on Frankie,_ Gerard said to himself.

Instantly his stomach constricted again and he dropped the envelope back into the drawer. He felt he would be sick again, even though it was impossible that anything else could come out of his stomach.

No, he didn’t cheat.

_Yes you did. And you broke the law…and your parents’ trust._

No. He did Mikey a _favor._

_You fucked a lot of other men in turn for a few hundred dollars…Whore._

“Not a whore,” Gerard whimpered.

_Frank even told you that a whore is a person who has sex for money. That’s what you did last night. That’s what you are…_

“No,” Gerard cried, fisting his hands in his short, platinum hair.

_Whore._

“No…”

_Slut!_

“No!” Gerard shouted, gasping when he caught himself and turning his head toward the basement stairs. He heard footsteps. “No…” he whined.

“Gerard?” It was his mother, thankfully. Not his father. If it would have been his father, he’d have no chance of keeping his secret. “Sweetheart?”

“Mom,” Gerard whimpered, creeping towards her when she appeared and hugging her. “Mommy…”

“Gerard, are you feeling better?” He ignored her question and nuzzled his instead. She seemed to be a sucker for his attention. “What happened last night? If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.” Gerard whined and pulled away from her.

“Just went to a party,” Gerard mumbled. “There was alcohol and I drank too much…”

“And the blood in your clothes?” Gerard look at her with widened eyes. Of course…he was in pajamas now. Someone would have had to change him. 

“There was a guy…but, Mom, you can’t tell Frank he’d leave me!” Gerard cried, grabbing her by her arms desperately. “Mom, it was an accident,” Gerard whined, tears coming but not for the reasons his mom was beginning to believe. “He said…he said I had to because he let me come to the party…I _had_ to.”

“To get into the party?” Gerard nodded rapidly.

“Whose party?” Gerard shook his head. 

“I don’t know.”

“You were…were raped last night?” Gerard turned his eyes away from her and said yes. 

Yes, he was raped for money. For money for _Mikey._

That meant he wasn’t really raped at all. He was just a whore…a whore who had cheated on Frank.

( ) ( ) ( )

The street was cold and he was shaking even though he wore his hoodie this time. He glanced around at the familiar buildings and watched as small pairs of people walked by. Most were men—some were couples, and whenever there was a woman she was in a short skirt waving to boys. 

“Hey! Back already!” Gerard recognized the voice and shivered, turning to look in the other direction at the silhouetted man approaching him. “Same price as last night?” 

“If you want the same thing,” Gerard repeated in a put-on voice. It was more sensual than the voice he typically used, more seductive and flirtatious.

“How much is it to stick in down your throat, pretty baby?” The man cooed, reaching out and touching Gerard’s face. 

“Seventy-five…” 

“That’s more than your ass—you’re getting expensive for this end of town.”

“That’s because I don’t like to do it… I need money. I can’t take less—do you want it or not?”

“Yeah, but you better be good at it or I’m not payin’ ya, pretty boy.” Gerard looked at the man with half frozen eyes.

“Gonna take me somewhere or do you want to do it out here on the street?” He asked harshly. 

“You got an attitude. Maybe I should give you a little bit of an _adjustment_ before we get down to it.”

“Then your price goes up to ninety,” Gerard muttered, looking away as if scouting for other customers.

“How bout I give you a hundred and you do everything I say for an hour and let me do everything I want?”

“Then I say have your way with me—as long we’re not doing it out here on the street.” He arched his brow in a bitchy fashion and turned his eyes away.

“Come on, I’ll take you to my place. It’s in that building.” Gerard followed him across the street and down the sidewalk until they reached the tall, decrepit looking apartment complex. “Gonna cry tonight, too?”

“Only if you make me, Babe,” Gerard said, starting up the steps and locking certain places of his brain. Tonight he was no longer Gerard—he didn’t have a family, he didn’t have a boyfriend, and he was only getting money because he needed it to pay for drugs for his master…he was like the nighttime whores sold at the auction house. If any of the men from the place saw him, they’d just think that he was doing the job his master told him to do. Go out, have sex, get money, come back, take a hit, go to bed.

That was the only way he could make it on these streets.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard sat before his therapist and sobbed. He hadn’t even spoken a word to her yet, hadn’t been in his chair for five minutes yet, and he was already in tears. There were so many things he wanted to say that he just couldn’t say to anyone.

He wanted someone to know that he’d let Frank make love to him, that he finally trusted him with such a thing. He wanted to say that he’d made Frank stop once before because he’d been afraid, even though he loved Frank, and yet over the past three nights he’d had sex with over a forty men without a second thought before opening his legs. 

He wanted to say that he did it for Mikey, but he knew that wasn’t justification. He didn’t _have_ to do it. He just felt obliged. He’d gotten himself kidnapped—it was his fault for everything that had happened.

He wanted forgiveness, but there was no one who could grant it to him. 

“How are you feeling, Gerard?” Dr. Caroza asked softly, seeming to know that the world was ending.

“Frank’s going to leave me soon,” Gerard breathed before sobbing once again.

“Why do you think that?”

“I betrayed him—and he’ll find out and he’ll leave me.” He wanted to add on that it was all for Mikey, though—for his little brother, but he couldn’t. “I’ll die if he leaves me, he saved me, I need him—Doctor, I need him,” Gerard sobbed, trying not to break into hysterics. 

“If you feel you need him, why would you betray him?” Gerard made a sound of agony and covered his face. “How did you betray him?...Gerard, how did you betray Frank?”

“I want him to forgive me…I won’t cheat on him again,” Gerard whimpered, begging Dr. Caroza to believe him the same way he would beg Frank. “I need him to forgive me—I love him. I won’t love anyone else.”

“If you love Frank, why would you cheat on him?” Gerard shook his head.

Because he was a whore. Because he was bad…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank decided he just needed to stop sitting on the couch because he ended up falling asleep on it too much. He only woke up this time because there was someone knocking at his door.

Only one person knocked on his door at three in the morning…well, possibly two. The cops and Gerard. Since he was being quiet this evening—or morning rather—it had to be his lover.

He hauled himself up from the couch and went to the door, unlocking it and giving the blonde man outside his door a sleepy smile.

“Hey, Sweetheart. Do your parents know you’re out this late?” Gerard shook his head and hurried into the apartment. “What do you have under your coat?” He asked after noticing that Gerard had his arms cradled over a bulge inside his coat.

“A present,” Gerard said nervously, smiling a little. It looked forced.

“What type of present?” Frank asked, looking around to see if there was any indication that this was a dream. It felt like a dream. Gerard showing up for no reason with a gift he had to keep hidden. Where would he buy a gift at this hour? And why would he feel compelled to bring it here right away?

“Um…you love me, right?” Gerard asked, a vague tremble in his voice.

“Yes,” Frank said. “Yes, deeply—a lot. Yes. Why?”

“And you like dogs?”

“Gerard,” Frank said firmly, concern dropping. “Do you have a dog under your coat?” Gerard looked at the floor and shifted his arms. “Gerard…show me what you have under your coat.” Gerard obeyed, slowly unzipping his coat and revealing the head of a little, fat puppy that was sleeping with its head on Gerard’s chest between its paws. It looked like some kind of pug. 

Frank was in love with it. Almost as in love with it as he was with Gerard.

“I got him…but I can’t keep him. Do you want him, Frank? I don’t want to take him to the pound, they’ll put him to sleep.” Frank found himself incapable of controlling his arms. He reached out for the puppy and took it from Gerard’s hands. It moaned and squirmed, tiny black eyes opening and looking around.

“Oh—oh, hi, Puppy,” Frank cooed, holding the puppy so he could look at its face. It stared at him and then yawned, pink tongue sticking out and curling. “Oh! Gerard—he’s so cute…Thank you!” It wasn’t until after he’d sat down with the puppy curled up in his lap that he’d realized what he’d just said… Thank you. That meant he’d accepted the dog. “Where, uh, where did you get him. He’s too clean to be off the streets unless you gave him a bath.” 

“He was in a box. They said ten dollars and I had that so I bought him. I didn’t think about it—Dad said I couldn’t have him. Do you like him?” Poor Gerard. His dad wouldn’t let him keep the puppy…and he was too impulsive to consider the heartbreak of being told he couldn’t keep it before buying it.

“ _Yes!_ ” Frank squealed when the puppy wiggled and curled itself into a tighter ball. “But what were you doing walking the streets? Were you with Mikey?” It didn’t seem like Mikey to let Gerard behave so recklessly.

“I was just wandering around. I do that now.” Frank felt like he was being lied to. If he bought the dog from a box and paid for it, he had to have bought it during the day, so why would he wait until three am to bring it over here…and then the puppy’s ear flapped and his worry dissipated. The cuteness, it was crushing him.

“Frankie?” 

“Yeah?” Frank answered, staring at the puppy.

“Make love to me again.” Frank froze, even though the puppy was stretching. As cute as puppies were, and even though it had been forever since he’d gotten to pet a dog, Gerard was still more important. 

“Did you…get me this puppy so I would sleep with you?” Frank asked cautiously. Gerard lowered his eyes and shook his head. “Gerard?”

“I just…I want to, and…And some couples say thank you to each other with…love.”

“Well…” Frank looked at him and sighed. “I guess we could. If you want to. Are you okay? You look a little sad, Sweetheart.”

“I feel like you don’t want me.”

“I want you,” Frank said, scooping the puppy out of his lap and setting it down on the couch so he could stand before Gerard. The tired thing barely stirred as it was moved. “What’s the matter?”

“You _don’t_ want me,” Gerard said softly.

“Yes I do,” Frank insisted, reaching out and touching Gerard’s hands and then holding them. “Do you think I don’t because we haven’t…haven’t had more sex since the first time?” Gerard nodded almost too eagerly. Like he was using that as an excuse. “Gerard, I think we should talk for a minute before—”

“N-no, I…Frank, I want to.”

“I know you do,” Frank said, scanning Gerard’s eyes and finding nothing but walls within them. He was hiding things. Hiding many things. “But, Gerard, something’s wrong. I can tell.”

“You just don’t want to,” Gerard said with a sigh, turning away and pulling his hands out of Frank’s.

“No, I want to know what you’re thinking before we do. Is there something you want to try and…and you’re afraid to ask?” Gerard shook his head no. “Then what, Sweetie?”

“I want to be a couple…”

“We _are_ a couple, Gerard.”

“But not really. We don’t live together, and I can’t see you without permission…I don’t want to live like I’m fourteen when I’m twenty-four!” Frank nodded slowly. 

“I understand that, Sweetheart.”

“I get lonely…Mikey got another job so he’s hardly home—and he still goes to Ray’s to practice with you and I’m not allowed to go. So all day I wait for Mom and Dad to come home, and for Mikey to come home and I’m _lonely._ ”

“And so you bought a puppy to keep you company?” Frank asked, his attention going back to the little dog that had decided to wake up and fall off of his thankfully low sitting couch. Gerard nodded. “Aw, Sweetheart. Maybe…maybe I can talk your parents into letting me come over and visit with you while they’re at work on days I have off.”

“They said no because I need to finish my school stuff. But I can do that in an hour…and when I said that, Dad told me he didn’t trust me alone with you.”

“But you’re alone with me when you come over here for the night,” Frank said, looking away from Gerard only briefly to follow the puppy with his eyes as it wandered over to his shoe and knocked it onto its side. 

“He said he doesn’t want me ‘doing things’ in his house.” Frank hummed in understanding. This really was getting to be like high school dating. “He doesn’t know about the one time…”

“He’s just trying to protect you, Gerard. Just give him some more time to smother you and he’ll get bored and let up—no, don’t chew my shoe!” Frank left Gerard’s side for a minute to get the puppy off of the floor and away from his shoe. It settled for biting into his arm instead. “Ow, you little monster—you’re mean.” He giggled as he said it and looked at Gerard who looked kind of frozen. “Gerard…something wrong,” he said with a sigh. “And it doesn’t have anything to do with your dad or being lonely at home, does it?” Gerard looked at him sadly and then glanced away towards the door. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Frankie, I bought the dog for you,” Gerard said, his voice starting to shake. 

Figured…That really didn’t surprise Frank at all. 

“Okay. Thank you for the puppy,” Frank said, giving the dog his finger to chew on after his arm had had enough.

“You didn’t ask how I got the money.”

“Well, your parents probably gave it to you, I thought…” Frank said, seeing the conversation in an entirely different light. He set the dog down again and let it run off, preferring to focus on his lover. 

“They don’t give me money because I don’t go out without them…or I’m not _supposed to_.”

“Well…where did you get the money then?” Frank asked, feeling like Gerard was leading him into the darkness of an alleyway in order to kill him. Money. Where would Gerard get money? “Did you take it?” He asked, knowing that his money wasn’t missing.

“I earned it,” Gerard said, looking down at the floor quickly. 

“You…got a job?” Frank asked doubtfully. Where would Gerard get money? How would he make money? No one would hire him…he had to have sold something. What would he sell? His art?

_Himself?_

“I got the puppy to say sorry to you, Frankie,” Gerard said, his voice suddenly breaking with tears. He kept his eyes on the floor, not even able to see the horror that was displayed on Frank’s face. 

“Gerard, how did you get money?” Frank asked again, praying Gerard would say he’d stolen it from him. Praying it was that simple. Anything he had he would let Gerard have—money, food, clothes, everything. “Tell me.” The puppy yapped loudly and Frank ignored it. “ _Tell me._ ”

“Mikey…Mikey needed money,” Gerard said, looking at him with wet eyes. “I had to—it’s my fault he had to drop out. The others at the house taught me how to get money if I ever got away…I just went where they said.” The walls were missing from Gerard’s eyes now. All that there was now was pain and fear. He didn’t want Frank to reject him, but he had to be honest. Frank could tell Gerard wanted him to know what he’d done, but would have preferred to keep it inside. Gerard didn’t want to keep secrets. “I love you,” Gerard whimpered.

“Did you have sex for money?” Frank asked, looking Gerard in the eye. Gerard looked away and nodded.

“I had to,” he said before sobbing. “Frank, I’m sorry!” It was like a piece of his heart had been torn out. He didn’t so much care that Gerard had slept with someone else—he’d anticipated that moment from the beginning—what hurt was that it came down to this… He’d gone back to what he knew, what his training told him. Servicing men without any regard for himself. 

He wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse. 

“Frank, don’t leave me,” Gerard said with a sob. “I need you.”

“I’m going to take you home,” Frank said, going over to the shoe that his new puppy was taking the pleasure of chewing again and slipping it on as well as its match. 

“Frank, n-no I want to stay here,” Gerard choked out, starting to look frightened.

“No, you need to go home, and you’re gonna tell your parents what you did.”

“No!” Gerard cried, backing away from him. “Dad will be mad! He’ll take the money before I can give it to Mikey!”

“Mikey’s not going to want that money!” Frank found himself shouting, but it wasn’t out of anger. “Gerard, you didn’t need to do this! No one wanted you to do this!”

“I _had_ to! It was the only way!”

“No it wasn’t! You didn’t have to! You _didn’t_ have to!” Frank sighed heavily and grabbed Gerard’s wrist so he could pull him towards the apartment door. He felt his pocket for his keys and found them.

“But Frank, the puppy! You can’t leave it—”

“It’s going to be fine,” Frank said firmly, opening the door and pulling Gerard into the hallway. He closed the door tightly and locked it, keeping a grip on Gerard even though the other man wasn’t fighting to get free.

“Don’t make me tell Dad, please,” Gerard whimpered as he was led out of the building and to Frank’s car.

“Get in.”

“But, Frank, I—”

“Get in,” Frank repeated, not looking him in the eye.

“Frank, _please!_ ”

“Get in the fucking car, Gerard!” Frank shouted. Gerard flinched and then finally obeyed. Frank closed the door for him and took the time to catch his breath and calm himself before getting in as well. “I didn’t mean to yell,” Frank said softly as he sat after closing the door. Gerard was in the passenger seat sobbing. “I’m just upset…”

“I didn’t want to cheat on you,” Gerard cried. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You haven’t lost me,” Frank said quietly, thinking about how Gerard just tried to get him to have sex. Was he planning to charge him as well? “Just my trust.”

“I want your trust,” Gerard whimpered.

“You kind of lost it,” Frank said, turning on the car and backing out of the parking spot. Gerard sobbed and lowered his head.

“Please forgive me…”

“I have,” Frank muttered. “It’s okay.” What else could he say? No, I’ll never forgive you for going back to what you know? I’ll never forgive you for relapsing because you were tortured for years? He loved him. What was he supposed to say?

“I’ve been bleeding all day…”Frank sighed heavily.

“Then you need to go to the doctor.”

“They’ll send me to jail. I broke the law.”

“Trust me, they aren’t going to send you to jail. You don’t know any better.”

“Yes I do!” Gerard snapped. “I’m not five. I know this is illegal.” Frank shook his head and drove.

“Did you at least use protection?” Silence. “No?”

“Some wouldn’t…I tried to get them to.” Frank stayed quiet. “I’m sorry. I needed to get the money…”

“You _didn’t_ need to get the money…what you _needed_ was to let Mikey handle this.”

“He just wanted to start a band! That won’t get him money!”

“Gerard, he doesn’t want to go back to school—why would he need money?”

“Because he needs to go to school! Now he can!”

“He doesn’t _want_ to! He wants to be in a band! He wants to play guitar! You did this for _no reason!_ ” Gerard made a quiet sound of pain and lowered his head.

“No, I—”

“ _Yes_ you did…” Gerard broke into quiet sobs after that and Frank drove in silence. What were Gerard’s parents going to say when they heard this news? God, he hoped Gerard’s father didn’t yell at him. That was the last thing he needed…some scary, older guy screaming in his face, making him feel worse. Mikey was going to be devastated…what if their father yelled at him instead? If Gerard felt that he got Mikey into _more_ trouble…

“Frank, do you still love me?” Gerard asked through a fit of sobs.

“Yes,” Frank answered, searching his soul to find out if it was true. It was. “Deeply.”

“Even though I’m a whore?” Gerard asked, sounding pathetic. 

“No matter what you are,” Frank whispered, pulling into the driveway of Gerard’s house. “Now come on. You’re telling them what you did.”

“Wait til morning?” Gerard asked, sniffing. Frank shook his head and turned off the car.

“Now.” Gerard whimpered and unfastened his seatbelt, surprising Frank as they both got out of the car because he didn’t make an attempt to run off. Frank rang the doorbell more than once even though Gerard had a key. It just seemed like a better set up than wandering through the house in the dark and knocking on Gerard’s parents’ bedroom door to wake them.

His father was the one who appeared, making Gerard moan in what had to be fear.

“Forget your key?” Don asked his son harshly. “Why not just stay at his place?”

“Gerard needs to tell you something,” Frank said in a disconnected voice. His father seemed to pick up on the fact that something was amiss because he didn’t say anything as he let the two of them inside. 

“What’s going on?” He asked as he led them to the living room. Gerard tried to hide behind Frank, but Frank nudged him forward. “It’s about that party you went to three nights ago, isn’t it? You’ve been acting weird since that night.” Gerard looked from his father to Frank, eyes pleading Frank to someone make this mess go away…or maybe to speak for him.

“Tell him, Gerard,” Frank said quietly.

“Come on, it’s late. I want to get back to bed.” Oh, he wasn’t going to be going back to bed, Frank thought. “Are you on drugs again?”

“No, sir,” Gerard whimpered. Frank found himself suddenly relieved. A question he’d forgot to ask and forgot he was even worried about.

“Then what? Come on. Talk.”

“I got Mikey money for school,” Gerard said, crying again and lowering his face. Frank touched his shoulder and rubbed it softly. It was hard to watch him in a state of such devastation. Did he really think he’d never have to explain?

“Did he steal from you?” Gerard’s father asked, looking to Frank with frustration and disappointment. 

“No,” Frank answered, caressing Gerard’s shoulder a little more in hopes it would calm the other man’s sobs. 

“Did he steal it?” Frank shook his head and then lowered his eyes to the floor. If he didn’t steal it, that left one other option. Gerard’s father picked up on it right away.

“Ah, shit—Gerard, you…you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did…” His father covered his face and sighed heavily in mortification. “Goddamnit.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said through a sob. “I wanted to fix it—I just wanted to help and it was the only thing I could think of.”

“How many people?” Gerard looked at him as if confused, staring at his father with puffy, red eyes. “How many people did you sleep with?”

“A lot,” Gerard answered, looking at Frank before falling back into heavy sobs. “A lot—and I’m sorry, Frank! I’m _sorry!_ ”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Frank said quietly, pulling Gerard into a small hug and letting his lover cling to him and cry on his shoulder. He couldn’t blame Gerard for this. He couldn’t let himself feel betrayed. It wasn’t about sex, it wasn’t about going elsewhere in search of love…it wasn’t because Frank hadn’t been good enough for him that first time. 

“I don’t know what to do with him,” Donald said suddenly. Gerard buried his face further against Frank’s neck.

“Just don’t yell,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s back with both hands. “Be nice,” he mouthed so Gerard wouldn’t hear. Don stared at them and shook his head.

“I don’t know what to do with him…I can’t deal with it anymore.” Gerard made a soft noise and pulled away from Frank slightly so he could look at his father. “He’s beyond our help—therapy isn’t helping…I’m going to have to send him to some institute to get him better, aren’t I?”

“No,” Frank said firmly, holding Gerard tightly because the thought of being sent away made Gerard screech in some kind of terror. “He just needs help understanding some things.” Gerard sniffed and nuzzled Frank’s neck softly. “And he needs to go to the doctor’s office tomorrow because he’s been bleeding and he hasn’t been using protection with some of the men he serviced.” Gerard made a weak sound and leaned on Frank more heavily. “Don’t faint on me please,” Frank said quietly when the weight pressing down him grew even more. “Gerard…Gerard, are you okay?” Even more weight and the quiet cries turned into silence. Then his legs gave out and he drug Frank down with him to the floor. Frank managed to drop them into a sitting position with Gerard slumped over onto his chest. “Shit.” Gerard was unconscious.

“Did he just black out or is it from the bleeding?” Donald asked, going to Frank and pulling Gerard off of him.

“I don’t know,” Frank said tiredly. “’Should get him to the doctor anyway. He’ll fight later.” Don sighed and stated that he was going to get dressed and wake his wife, and left Frank sitting on the floor with Gerard laying on his chest in an unconscious heap of tears.

The doctor might be able to help with the bleeding tonight if it was anything to be worried over, but to resolve the matter of whether or not Gerard got himself infected with something…that was going to take months.

And to test for AIDS? That could take up to six months. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Way—you got your son back after eight years, now wait to see if he dies from willingly prostituting himself.

He held Gerard a little tighter and kissed the top of his head. Gerard would never be free…


	19. All that You Can Drink

Gerard was sitting in the hospital bed glaring out the window. He didn’t care if he was in here for his own good, because he got himself sick, or because he needed the treatment or not. He was sulking.

Frank was just glad that Gerard had enough passion left in him to sulk. 

He’d only been in the hospital for six hours…well, fifteen if one considered the amount of time he spent unconscious. He wasn’t happy that he’d been examined without his say-so, but his bizarre situation left his opinion on the treatment he needed useless.

He didn’t like being told that either.

Also, now that he’d had time to think things over…scheme…and realized he wasn’t going to lose Frank’s affection, he’d also gotten _bitchy_ when it came to questions regarding how he ended up in the hospital.

His “violation” had been recorded by a female police officer—the same one who had found Gerard when he’d been hiding in Frank’s apartment, one who knew his situation well—but because of his “prior circumstances” there was no chance that he would be prosecuted. The officer suggested extra counseling and Gerard snorted at her. 

It was through her questioning, however, that the sum of money Gerard had scraped up was revealed. Two thousand and nine hundred dollars. That was practically a dollar for each day he’d been missing for those eight years… An obscene fortune for a prostitute on those particular streets to make in only four days.

“I didn’t just do it for money,” Gerard snapped when he was questioned further. Everyone was still worried that he’d robbed someone. “I got drugs, too, okay? Some paid me with drugs and I went and I sold them.” Did he use the drugs? That question pissed him off for fifteen minutes. He wouldn’t speak or look at anyone. “Yeah, because I wanted to end up back with my trainer,” Gerard hissed when he was asked again. It was sarcastic, and the pain in his eyes had been visible when he’d seen how little he was trusted now. “I don’t do that anymore…and I won’t do this anymore. I just wanted to help out.”

It was obvious that the officer felt sorry for him, but she took the time to mention—outside of Gerard’s range of hearing of course—that it wasn’t unheard of for victims of situations like his to turn to prostitution. It’s what they know…it’s what they’re comfortable with. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Two weeks after the ordeal and Gerard got to discover that he was uninfected…at least when it came to common diseases. He celebrated by inviting Frank over and laying on him on the couch so no one else could sit by them.

They were prohibited from being alone together now which didn’t make Gerard happy, but Frank could hardly find it in his soul to care. There was nothing to say in private. 

But, as they lay together, Gerard’s head on Frank’s chest and the fingers of their left hands entwined, it did feel uncomfortable with the set of angry eyes watching them. Every now and then Gerard would give his father a warning look and kiss Frank gently on the mouth as if hoping to make his dad uncomfortable and to get him to quit watching. Frank just ignored it. He kept breathing despite the weight pushing down on him and returned whatever kisses Gerard would give him.

“Frankie, you’re quiet,” Gerard said softly, nuzzling his chest and sighing.

“I’m tired, Sweetheart,” Frank answered with a sigh. Gerard whimpered but asked no more. Frank could feel Gerard’s sadness diffusing into him through their touching chests. Gerard knew what he’d done was wrong, finally understood that it was unnecessary, finally took into consideration that he could be dying from a disease that they still had to wait five and a half months to figure out if he had.

With a tired groan, Frank freed his hand from Gerard’s and wrapped his arms around the other man in an embrace that he used to roll them onto their sides—Gerard’s back pressing tightly against the back of the couch. 

Gerard made a quiet sound of approval and shifted so that one of his legs was over Frank’s thigh and buried his head under Frank’s chin.

“Going to sleep over there?” Gerard’s father asked in a tone suggesting Frank should go home if he was that tired. Gerard responded with a tired, frustrated moan and held onto Frank tighter with his leg.

“Frank, you don’t have to stay,” Gerard whispered. Frank sighed and moved to lace their fingers together between their chests. The couch was almost too narrow to allow room for the extra space between them to hold hands. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” Frank mumbled back, pleased in knowing that there was no way Donald Way could interpret what they were saying. 

“It’s okay if you do…I’m boring.”

“You’re warm…and you smell good today.”

“I had to use Mom’s shampoo.” Frank laughed softly and nuzzled the top of Gerard’s head. “I love you, Frankie…”

“I love you, too,” Frank said back sleepily.

“I don’t see how.” Frank pressed closer to him even though it was hardly possible and sighed. “The hardest part…is leaving you.” Frank woke up when he heard those out-of-place words.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, still quiet enough that Gerard’s father couldn’t hear, but firmer than his other drowsy statements.

“Yes I am…I’m sick.”

“No you’re not,” Frank stated, trying to move closer—as if trying to crawl inside of Gerard’s skin. 

“I have to be…no one is that lucky...to go sleep with a bunch of people and come away clean.”

“You _deserve_ that luck,” Frank said firmly. He couldn’t bear to even think of it, to think of Gerard dying because Mikey was too sick with a lust for revenge to study, because Gerard’s parents were too fucking stupid to keep an eye on him so he didn’t sneak out at night…no. He wasn’t going to lose the man he loved. “I need you, Beautiful…”

“I want you,” Gerard breathed, pressing against him in a different way. Frank inhaled sharply and groaned. 

“Gerard, there’s no way we can do that,” Frank whispered, doing everything in his power to ignore the contact. Gerard whimpered and then sighed. “Let’s just sleep,” he said even softer. Gerard made a quiet noise and cuddled against him. 

“I wish someone would’ve been awake to stop me,” Gerard whispered before sniffing, indicating that he was close to tears. “I wish I’d gotten caught.”

“Me too,” Frank said quietly, nuzzling Gerard’s head and squeezing his eyes shut. Why hadn’t someone caught him? Why didn’t anyone pay attention? How could they let him do this to himself? 

Frank shifted to get an arm over Gerard’s side in order to hold him, pushing even closer on the narrow couch. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Gerard added with a quiet sob. 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” Frank said in a quiet, reassuring voice. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this.” Gerard whimpered doubtfully, but fell into a light sleep shortly after. Frank followed him, keeping his eyes closed his and limbs tangled with Gerard’s.

( ) ( ) ( )

They finally got to be alone together after Gerard’s first test for AIDS came back negative. It would still be another three months before they’d know with complete assurance that he was clean, but the test results left an air of relief in the house. 

Gerard seemed the least interested in the results, though. He was just eager to spend the weekend with Frank. In all of the three months he’d spent alone—or with minimal contact with Frank—he managed to get almost all of the online schooling done. He gave it more dedication than necessary, as if hoping to please his parents somehow by completing it all unbelievably quickly. 

When he was asked about it, he’d said he just wanted to please his mom. Frank couldn’t help but feel Gerard wanted to use it as a bargaining chip—see, all of my work is done, now let me visit my boyfriend—or perhaps even get it out of the way so he could dedicate more time to his art and his lyrics.

He was writing a lot more now, but he wasn’t letting Frank see the finished works.

“Frank, how much do you think Dad hates me now?” Gerard asked as soon as he got into the apartment.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Frank said firmly, going into the bedroom to let the puppy out of its crate. “No one hates you.”

“ _I_ hate me…” 

“Well you shouldn’t. You made a mistake. Everyone does…now fix it by naming this dog.”

“Why did you keep that thing?” Gerard asked gloomily, sinking onto Frank’s couch and pretending he didn’t want to pick up the puppy that ran into the room at full speed.

“Because I wanted a dog and you gave me an excuse to have one.”

“I’m glad me being a slut is useful for you,” Gerard muttered. Frank growled in frustration and slammed the door of his bedroom just to get the anger out before he started yelling. The puppy was startled by the noise, but Gerard remained unfazed.

“ _Quit it_ with that already. You’re so depressing…”

“Well I’m sorry your whore of a boyfriend can’t be more cheerful,” Gerard snapped. 

“Is there something you want to say to me? You seem pissed off.” Were they really going to go three months without privacy and fight after finally getting the privilege back? 

Gerard turned his face away and stared at the wall.

“What?” Frank asked. Gerard just shook his head. “Why are you mad at me? I _tried_ to get your Dad to let you over here earlier but he wouldn’t—you know I tried—so why are you so mad at me?”

“It’s not you,” Gerard mumbled, looking at the puppy that was bouncing around by his feet. “Your dog is fat.”

“Well forgive me for feeding him every day.” Gerard looked down sadly and sighed. Perhaps he finally realized he was being a bitch…

“Name him Pig, because he’s fat…like me.”

“Gerard!” Frank snapped, patience wearing thin quickly. The blonde man picked the pup off of the floor and put it in his lap, sighing softly and looking depressed. “ _What_ is wrong?”

“Dad hit me this morning,” Gerard said, petting the puppy—Pig, Frank guessed—a little too roughly. His wrinkles became flat…

“What do you mean he hit you?” Frank asked, going to the couch and sitting down as close to Gerard as possible. “Why?—where? _Why?_ ” He put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder and began caressing it gently. Gerard sighed.

“He said my pessimism was pissing him off, I don’t remember what I said after that…something stupid… then he told me I was acting like a child and I said maybe if he’d done a better job raising me none of this would’ve happened and I would’ve grown up like I was supposed to. And he hit me.” Yes, Frank had to admit, it seemed like something Gerard would say, and he could see how it would upset his father. 

But to hit him? Mikey’d told Frank once before that their father wasn’t really the hitting type… Perhaps there was more to the story that Gerard was conveniently leaving out. But there really wasn’t anything that gave someone the _right_ to hit Gerard.

“Then what happened?” Frank asked. “Did he apologize?”

“Yeah. He said he’d just…forgot that I wasn’t fifteen anymore.”

“Got caught up in the moment?” It sounded like a bad excuse from a text book on domestic violence…but it was probably the truth. Gerard nodded.

“It didn’t really hurt, it just scared me. I wasn’t expecting it so I fell…I think he thinks he really hurt me. Maybe that’s why I’m allowed over.” Gerard’s lip twitched. “I don’t like my relationship being a reward.”

“I don’t like it much either,” Frank stated, reaching over and caressing Gerard’s cheek. The other man sighed softly and leaned into the touch.

“Frankie…I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Gerard,” Frank responded, leaning his head onto the other man’s shoulder. “I missed being with you…alone. You’re not you when you’re around your dad.”

“Sorry I can’t take advantage of you in your sleep when my dad’s watching. I get self-conscious.” Gerard giggled and tapped Pig’s nose, focusing on the puppy more than Frank. “And I wanted to come play with my puppy…”

“Gerard…how are you feeling?” Frank asked as he sat straight again. Gerard looked at him curiously and then looked back at the puppy in his lap.

“What do you mean? Why? Do I look sick?”

“No,” Frank said. “I mean…how are you _feeling?_ We haven’t been able to really talk in a while and you’ve looked really upset these past few weeks.” Gerard was quiet for a long time and then gave in with a sigh and spoke.

“That’s because my therapist is making me think about it. She’s making me _make up_ feelings about it pretty much. I think she’s trying to dissect me.”

“What do you mean by ‘it’?” Frank asked softly. 

“Master,” Gerard said in a detached voice. “She tried asking about my trainer but I just…couldn’t. I don’t want to think about it. It’s over—why can’t she let it be over?” Gerard asked, looking at Frank with eyes that were suddenly overflowing with tears. 

“It’s probably because of the flashbacks, Sweetheart,” Frank said quickly. “Don’t cry—it’s okay!”

“But it’s over! I don’t want to remember…I try really hard to forget the nightmares and she digs them all up.”

“Maybe she thinks if you can face these things the flashbacks will go away, Honey. Then you won’t have to think about it ever,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder.

“I’ll always think about it,” Gerard whimpered. “It’s not like I can escape it. Even if it’s not the nightmares, I think about it every day. Master…trainer…you…”

“Me?” Frank asked suddenly, worried.

“Well, Frank, you’re the one who got me out of there. I think of it every time I see you.” Frank knew what that meant, and the thought was like a knife in his chest. Every time he saw Frank, he remembered his master and his trainer—remembered things that hurt. “I love you, though…and I’m glad you saved me. I didn’t know how bad things were back then. I just wish I hadn’t messed everything up.”

“You haven’t messed anything up,” Frank said, shaking away his pain. “Gerard, you’re being hard on yourself.”

“Someone has to be hard on me…other than Dad.” Gerard mumbled, setting Pig on the floor so he could lean over and put his head in Frank’s lap. “Everyone else is just too nice.”

“You need someone to be nice to you,” Frank said quietly, petting Gerard’s hair softly. It was getting longer and the roots were coming in dark, making the platinum look dull…

“You’re _too_ nice to me,” Gerard sighed. “You spoil me.”

“I love you. I like to spoil you.” Gerard smiled softly and closed his eyes.

“Would you still love me if I turned out to be diseased?” Gerard asked, opening his eyes and looking at him nervously.

“You know I would.” Gerard didn’t look consoled. “Babe, what’s wrong?” Frank asked softly, petting his hair more and watching his tears fall again. “Don’t cry…”

“I don’t want to die,” Gerard sobbed, closing his eyes again and covering his face with his hands. “I’m scared.” The sobs became rapid after that, choked and frantic.

“No, Sweetheart, you’re okay,” Frank said in alarm, petting his hair more frantically in an attempt to calm him. “Gerard, come on—it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Gerard sobbed, keeping his face covered. “I probably have it and it’s going to kill me!”

“Gerard,” Frank cried in desperation, the negative thoughts taking jabs at his soul in all of its weak spots. “The first test came back negative, the second one will, too—I’m _sure!_ ”

“You _can’t_ be!” Gerard snapped, uncovering his face to show the anger in his eyes. “You don’t _know!_ No one does!” He made a mournful sound and covered his face again. “If I have it I’m going to kill myself,” he whimpered. Frank’s chest tightened.

“No you are not,” he said firmly. Gerard let out a sob-like laugh.

“It’s better than having you watch me die slowly…it’d be over in a minute.”

“Stop it! I don’t want to hear that,” Frank cried out desperately, feeling tears hit him. They’d come too far—all of them had—to have Gerard die now. No god would let him be diseased, no god would punish them like this. 

He was terrified. Frank was terrified that Gerard’s patience would wear thin waiting on that second set of results…he’d get too stressed, he’d panic, he’d convince himself that he had the disease and end himself. He was going to lose Gerard just like that.

“I don’t want to suffer anymore. Every day hurts…I already _feel_ like I’m dying.”

“But you’re not!” Frank snapped, blinking back tears. “You’re not dying so stop this! You’re hurting me…”

“But, Frank, it’s how I feel,” Gerard whimpered, meeting his gaze sadly. “Some part of me is dying…even if it’s not my body. I just want to forget all of this—all of this stuff Dr. Caroza keeps making me remember. I want it to disappear.” 

“Have you told her you’d rather not talk about it?” Frank asked, wiping a stray tear off his cheek and trying to regain his composure.

“She says I _have_ to,” Gerard said with intense bitterness. “Otherwise the memories will keep coming back—‘fighting to be heard.’”

“Maybe she’s right, Honey,” Frank mumbled.

“No she’s not!” Gerard snapped, sitting up and glaring at him harshly. “She’s _not!_ She’s never had this happen—she doesn’t know how _humiliating_ it is to tell someone you were dumb enough to believe that another person owned you and that they had the right to do gross things to your body! Or to describe what they did—and what part of you they hurt! I know they raped me, Frank! I know I didn’t deserve it! Why does she have to torture me?” Gerard pushed his head onto Frank’s shoulder and whimpered. “I want to stop going to her but Dad won’t let me…I don’t want to stop therapy, I think it can help…but not her. I want someone that’s not her…”

Frank put his arms around his lover and pulled him a little closer. Gerard whimpered and nuzzled Frank’s neck.

“There’s…Frank, there’s something else,” Gerard said in a hardly audible whisper.

“What, Gerard?” Frank asked, leaning away from the other slightly. His body had suddenly gone tense—he expected something bad. “You can tell me,” he added when Gerard remained silent. “Sweetheart…”

“I wanna forget,” Gerard whispered.

“So forget,” Frank said. “Just ignore her when she asks—don’t answer her.”

“But I’ll have flashbacks if I don’t face them,” he mumbled. “As soon as I see something that reminds me.”

“I don’t know how to help,” Frank said quietly as he pushed Gerard back far enough to get a look in his eyes. There was a sad sense of purpose in those eyes that Frank didn’t understand. “Gerard, what’s wrong?”

“Frank, you saved me from Master,” Gerard said, looking away quickly. “And I want to forget.”

“So forget,” Frank stated, trying to force all thought out of his head because he was afraid. Terrified because he knew where this could be going. “Pretend we met somewhere else.” Gerard stayed quiet. “Pretend we met at the diner, Sweetheart.” Gerard said nothing and Frank’s heart began to race. “We could say I was just Mikey’s friend from school and I came over once and met you.” Gerard shook his head. He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything. Including Frank. “Don’t leave me,” Frank pleaded, starting to cry. Gerard turned his face away and stared at the living room wall. “Gerard, please—I really love you, don’t leave me.” Did he have a right to ask Gerard to stay? He wanted to forget his trauma, he wanted to get better. What right did Frank have to get in the way of that?

But he loved him so much… How could go without seeing him? Without hearing from him? He wanted to help Gerard get better—he wanted to help him by _being there._ Showing him what a real lover was, rebuilding his confidence…

“Gerard, _please,_ ” Frank begged, biting back a sob. “It doesn’t have to be that way. I’ll play along with whatever you say—I don’t love you just because I got you out of there. I need you.”

“You don’t know what need is,” Gerard mumbled, keeping his face turned away as Frank started to sob.

“Gerard—”

“Just let me go,” Gerard whimpered. “I don’t deserve you anyway. Let me go.”

“No,” Frank cried. “ _Please._ I gave you everything I had—I’ll give _more._ You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to leave me…”

_Stop,_ Frank told himself. _Stop crying, stop fighting. He wants to leave. Let him have what he wants. If you don’t stop, you’re just the same as his master. If you really loved him, you’d give him what he wants._

“Okay,” he said with a shaking voice, turning his face away from Gerard and hardly believing that this was possible. “Okay, Gerard. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you need me to.” He sniffed and scanned the room for Pig, finding the puppy sleeping in the doorway to the kitchen. Yes, Gerard was going to leave him and he was going to be stuck with a million traces of him floating around his apartment trying to drive him over the edge every day. 

He suddenly realized how it felt to be Gerard…it was instantaneous. It hurt. It hurt to be reminded of something pleasant that was gone. How horrible was it to remember something painful?

“I love you, Frankie,” Gerard said quietly, looking back at him with sympathetic eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

_No, you won’t,_ Frank thought.

“I’ll miss you, too, Sweetheart,” Frank said, wondering if it was still okay to touch him now. They were over, weren’t they? He had no right to steal a kiss or hold his hand. 

“Try to forget me,” Gerard said softly, sliding off the couch and moving towards the front door. Was he expecting to be allowed to just walk home? The world was dangerous…but what right did Frank have to stop him?

Frank stared at him and cried silently, not knowing what else he could do. He couldn’t fight him and try to take him home…and all he could think to speak was ‘don’t forget me. I still love you.’

“If we see each other somewhere,” Gerard said, his voice not even shaking. “Pretend we don’t know each other. Don’t…don’t say anything.” Frank nodded.

“I promise,” he whimpered before lowering his head and weeping. 

“I’ll tell my family. You don’t have to worry…” How could he speak so calmly when Frank was sitting there dying in front of him?

“If you change your mind,” Frank choked out as soon as Gerard had gotten the front door open. The other man stared at him with what looked painfully like annoyance. “Come back…” Gerard shook his head.

“If I come back, pretend you don’t know me. It’ll help me. I just want you to help me.” Frank closed his eyes and looked away from him. It was over. He didn’t want it to be over. What god did this? Presented him with this beautiful person, made him love him more than anything else, and then forced him to let go? It was selfish if he didn’t release him, but it was so damned hard.

The door closed and Frank was brought back from his thoughts. Gerard was gone. 

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Gerard to leave him…not after he’d fought so hard to get them back together after he’d gone home.

“No,” Frank whimpered. He stared at the door, probably the way Gerard had stared at it when Frank had left him to buy coffee the first night he’d brought him here. “Come back,” he breathed. “Please…” But he knew that if Gerard did come back, he’d have to turn him away. It was what Gerard wanted. He had to give him what he wanted.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey never went to practice again. He stayed home, staring at his bass as it loomed in the corner of his room. This was getting insane. He was working two jobs in order to be allowed to even stay in his parents’ house since he’d dropped out of school, and he had to stay up late nights listening to Gerard crying. 

Why was he doing this to himself? Did he really think he was fixing _anything?_ Who the hell gave him this Memory Repression-False Memories idea? Mikey wanted to get his hands around that person’s neck and squeeze until he or _she_ quit breathing. 

Gerard had cut things off with Frank even though it made him miserable. There hadn’t been a day he’d gone without crying because of it for weeks. 

And how was Frank fairing? According to Ray who Mikey called probably later into the night than appropriate, Frank wasn’t taking it too well either. Apparently, Gerard had bought him a dog with some of the money he’d earned on the street. Apparently Frank clung to that dog every second that he was in his apartment as if it was somehow part of Gerard. 

The world had gone to hell again…the test results that were only a month and a half away no longer seemed important. How could anything like that matter when Gerard was already dying now? Killing himself with misery?

Sure, his plan was working—or at least he made it look like it was—but the flashbacks he had were only that much more devastating. The more he forgot, the more painful it was when it was brought back up.

Times when Mikey would find him in a mess on the floor, begging to know why someone would do that to him. Why would someone want to hurt him that bad? Why, he always asked. Why? 

Why did he expect Mikey to have an answer?

His plans seemed stupid, yet he’d convinced everyone to go along with it, even his new therapist. He was miserable…he was making everyone else miserable. Mikey hated it. He hated every minute of it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray was visiting Frank again…or keeping an eye on him rather. It had been over two months since Gerard had left him in this tomb of desperation, and Frank was slowly getting worse.

“You need to go out more,” Ray said quietly. “Go visit your mom…go to the movie.”

“Who’ll watch Pig?” Frank asked, holding the fat-ass dog in his lap and nuzzling it. 

“The dog’s not Gerard,” Ray _wanted_ to say, but he settled instead for, “I can keep him at my place. I won’t hurt him.”

“But he trusts me. I can’t abandon him…”

“The dog’s not Gerard,” Ray wanted to say, but again he settled for, “You’re not abandoning him if you go out for a few hours with some friends. All you do anymore is work and rot in your apartment. You’re killing yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Frank sighed, nuzzling his dog as it sat in his lap like a cat.

“You’re _depressed._ ” Frank shrugged and hugged his dog. Perhaps Ray had underestimated the relationship he and Gerard had had. He’d seen Frank after getting dumped before, and none of those times had resulted in as much depression, alcohol, and seclusion as this. 

( ) ( ) ( )

A knock on Frank’s door at two in the morning set Pig off and woke Frank up instantly. A knock? This early?

_Gerard?_

He leapt out of bed as quickly as he could, tripping over Pig in the process, and got to the door without taking the time to apologize to the whining dog. He couldn’t get the door open fast enough—the only person who came here this early in the morning was Gerard and the cops…

…and apparently Mikey, too.

“Wrong brother, I know,” Mikey said. He must’ve caught the disappointment in Frank’s eyes before the sadness overcame them. “Test came back negative. I thought you would want to know.” Frank nodded and looked beyond Mikey at the empty hallway. 

What had he been thinking? Even if it had been Gerard, he would have had to keep his word—he would’ve had to pretend that he didn’t know him.

He would never be able to do that. Why would he make such an impossible promise?

“Mom and Dad told me to leave you out of it, but that’s not fair so I had to wait until they were in bed to sneak out.”

“What did Gerard say?” Frank asked, desperate to know how he was, what he was doing, if he was getting better.

“Nothing. He thought he was getting the blood work done to check his iron levels. Apparently he thinks he’s anemic.”

“So it’s…working,” Frank said, not sure if he was happy or sad.

“Sometimes.” Frank stared at him, taking in his tired eyes and his casual stance. “I miss my guitar.”

“I miss my boyfriend.” Mikey looked away.

“He missed you for a while,” Mikey mumbled. “He doesn’t remember you now…I’m pretty sure.” Frank made a sad sound and looked away towards the wall. “He got a new therapist.”

“Good. The last one was a bitch.”

“I know. This one treats him like he’s five, but he loves her.” Frank internally cringed at the word ‘love.’ “She pretty much just helps him build these fantasies he has. She doesn’t believe he can cope with the truth whereas Dr. Caroza did. He _could’ve_ if he’d just tried to.”

“He did try,” Frank said softly. Mikey sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“Anything else you want to know? I’m not coming back.”

“Is he happy?”

“I guess. He writes a lot and draws things.”

“Did he throw his old songs away?” Mikey shook his head no. “But won’t they remind him—”

“Frank, he’s had it all figured out from the beginning. He’s missing years of his memory because of drugs—he just says that this lyric comes from that missing time period and that one from another. The other day he showed me one—” showed him a lyric…Frank was jealous. “—and asked me if I knew who he wrote it about. I said no, but I could tell it was about you.” Frank stiffened. “He has a lot of them about you…he wants to know who you are.”

“He said I couldn’t talk to him again even if we met up,” Frank said with a sigh. “I promised I’d listen.”

“Yeah, that’s your own problem,” Mikey said with a strange tone. “Anything else you want to know? I need to get home before someone figures out I left.” Frank thought for a moment. There were a million things he wanted to know.

“Is he getting along with your dad?” Mikey shrugged. 

“He hides behind Mom most of the time, but they still fight with each other every few days. He fights like he used to.”

“Do you think he’s getting better?”

“Yeah,” Mikey said sighing and shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “ _Sometimes._ ” He didn’t say goodbye, he just started off down the hallway, leaving Frank to close the door behind him after watching him until he was gone. He knew he wouldn’t be seeing him again.


	20. The Last Ones Standing

It was a year after he’d left Gerard—or after Gerard decided to leave him—that Frank saw a report on the news saying a human trafficking ring had been broken up “dangerously close to home” in New Jersey. Many in the nation were aggravated that some of the men and women involved received shortened sentences due to plea agreements—turning over other sellers. 

Over eighty slaves had been rescued, but “help came too late” for at least one hundred more. Some of the sellers agreed to tell who their victims were…others agreed to tell where the bodies were. 

One was found dead in his keeper’s home. His name was Joshua.

Frank made a point to look up the photos of all of the men who had been caught. Sure enough, the man who had sold Gerard to him was among them. 

For some reason, he’d thought that he might hear from Gerard around that time. He really hoped he might get a call or a visit, but nothing came. He waited for six months before he gave up.

The reason why he still had such a strong attachment to a man he hadn’t seen in over a year eluded him. Gerard had been generally unpleasant most of the time…he had moments of sweetness, but he was quick to anger and easy to provoke into violence. He was an emotional train wreck, and he pulled whoever he was with into the mess quickly. Traumatized and ruined…but so beautiful and so affectionate, so full of mystery and little quirks. Talented, loving…

But obviously the love was one-sided. Quickly, one year grew into two…then a two and few months. No word from Gerard, no word from Mikey, Don or Donna. Gerard had moved on.

Gerard had moved on and Frank just couldn’t. The thought drove him to tears more than once. Gerard was free and he was trapped with Gerard’s memory. Gerard was free…or so he hoped.

He really hoped Gerard’s nightmares were over. 

On a bizarrely warm day in January, the temperature finally creeping a few degrees past freezing, Frank walked to the store just to clear his head. It wasn’t that he was thinking of Gerard that morning, he was just stressed. Holidays, New Years had been two weeks ago, Christmas a little bit before that… He hated the holidays. They made him emotional against his will, and all the muddy snow, the icy grime, and the false cheer—all a cover-up for the horrors and hells everyone was going through.

He wanted to walk in the cold and remember that no one was actually happy. 

He went through almost every aisle with a hand basket, picking up little things here and there that he decided he wanted in his house. Dog treats, a bone, a squeaky toy…he wasn’t happy, but the dogs should be.

It was during a stroll down one of the aisles he didn’t actually need to be in that something finally caught his eye. He was in the condiments aisle—ketchup, mustard, barbecue sauce, salad dressing, and mayonnaise of different varieties—when he noticed a list laying on the floor by the weirdest flavor of barbecue sauce he’d ever seen on the bottom shelf. 

He didn’t know why the piece of yellow paper caught his eyes, but he picked it up and looked it over. Apples, Crisco, Cinnamon, Flour, Butter, Toothpaste, Sugar, Coffee Filters…on and on. It was like peeking into someone else’s life. Someone who cared about their teeth was going to make an apple pie with homemade crust and probably enjoy it with a cup of coffee. 

“Someone’s doggie is going to be happy when he gets home,” someone said suddenly, making Frank jolt and drop the list. There was a person standing beside him, glancing down into his hand basket and staring at the mainly dog-related products. 

“Yeah,” Frank said, surprised that he could find his voice. The person, a man with shaggy, candy apple-red hair…There he was. Suddenly, it was Gerard. It had to be…the voice, the hazel eyes, the skin that was as soft as it looked.

Why would God torture him like this? To test him? Put Gerard in front of him to see if he’d keep his word and pretend that they’d never met, pretend that they’d never been in love…make sure he kept it so Gerard didn’t ever have to remember the eight years he spent being raped.

“Have…have we met before? I’m sorry if this is awkward, it’s just…you look really familiar.” The man with the red hair and the blackish-blondish roots gave him a nervous smile and clutched at the handle of his shopping cart.

“No,” Frank said, tears almost hitting him. What if Gerard wanted him to say yes? What if Gerard was trying to reconnect and he’d just ruined it? But he’d promised Gerard that if they ever met again, he’d keep his word and keep quiet. Pretend they’d never crossed paths. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” the man said, lowering his eyes dejectedly. “I’m sorry—I must’ve just seen you in the store before and got you mixed up for an acquaintance.”

“Yeah, I’m in here a lot,” Frank said, even though the man had started walking away. The man stopped by the dressings and looked over at Frank with a soft smile. “I always forget something and have to come back.”

“Me too,” the man said, smiling a little bit shyly and looking back at the shelf. “I forgot to get this last time.” He grabbed a bottle off of the shelf—a glass one with a black label and gold letters… _Girard’s Balsamic Vinaigrette._ Frank’s heart stopped.

“G-Girard’s?” He stammered, his chest still constricted but his heart beating insanely now. “It’s a good brand.” The man smiled.

“It’s close to my name…that’s why I buy it.”

“Girard?” Frank repeated, pretending he didn’t already know.

“Gerard.” The man chuckled and put the bottle in his cart. What was Gerard doing shopping alone? Did he think the world was safe now that most of the bad guys had been caught? Or was it because he didn’t think that bad guy’s existed anymore?

“Yeah.” Gerard smiled at him and then looked down again. “I still swear that I know you from somewhere…are you sure my hair colour isn’t throwing you off? I dyed it for Christmas…kind of as a joke. I wanted to dye it one half red and one half green but the store only had red…Oh—how rude. I—uh…I forgot to ask your name.” Gerard started to blush and looked away. 

Frank sniffed back a set of tears that he would blame on the cold if Gerard asked.

“It’s Frank.” Gerard looked back up and smiled.

“I like your…coat,” Gerard said suddenly. He was like a man trying to flirt at a bar. An inexperienced man trying to flirt at a bar…

“Oh, thank you,” Frank said, starting to blush himself. “I like your hair. It’s pretty…punk, rock alternative.” Gerard giggled, looked embarrassed by the noise and returned his attention to the shelf. 

“I’m not usually this…this bold, but I feel like I know you, so…would—someday, would you maybe want to meet up? Maybe plan a shopping trip or…walk your dog together.”

“Sure…I could, uh, could give you my number.” Frank couldn’t believe he was still breathing when he saw Gerard’s eyes light up and his lips curl with a smile. When Frank reached for a pen, ready to write his number on the discarded list he’d dropped or on Gerard’s hand if he was fortunate enough that the man he loved would say “no, I’ll lose it—just write it here on my skin,” Gerard pulled out a cell phone and looked at him expectantly. Waiting to key the number in.

Frank let the pen drop back into his pocket and recited the number to his cell phone, watching the concentrated way in which Gerard keyed it in.

“Maybe I could call you later,” Gerard said, like a suggestion. Frank nodded.

“Yes—that would be great.” They looked at each other for a short while before Gerard became bashful again and looked away. His eyes seemed to reflect the though “I can’t believe he’s actually talking to me.” As if he was surprised that someone could have taken interest in him.

“I’m…this is the last thing I needed,” Gerard mumbled, glancing at Frank again.

“Yeah, me too,” Frank said quickly. “I think I’m going to check out.” Gerard started to smile again. “Stand in line with me?” Gerard nodded quickly. 

The whole time they stood together he wanted to reach out and touch Gerard’s hand, feel his skin. Feel the skin he longed to kiss and caress. It was murder. Standing so close but unable to hold him and kiss him like he had before.

“You’ve got a lot of things,” Frank said as Gerard began to set his things on the check-out counter. “Big family?”

“Well, no…It’s just me and my brother. We’ve got an apartment together. I’m so old now it doesn’t make sense to live at home, my dad and brother don’t get along and at first I needed help with the rent. But—but I’m sound now. I-I have enough money to live,” he said quickly, afraid Frank would decide to dislike him if he thought he was poor.

“I take it you get along pretty well with your brother then,” Frank said, worrying now about how his friend—Mikey—was doing. He’d thought of him in passing, but never with as much concern as he had for Gerard.

“We’re like best friends,” Gerard said as he put the last of his items on the counter for the cashier to ring up. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No, but I have a friend who’s like a brother. He helped me through a really bad break up.”

“Aw,” Gerard mumbled, a sad sound of compassion.

“Yeah, my last boyfriend hit me.” Frank stiffened as he set his basket down on the slowly clearing counter. “My brother hit him back and that was the end of that.” Gerard laughed sadly and paid the clerk for the groceries.

“They shouldn’t hit you,” Frank mumbled. Gerard grabbed up his bags and waited for Frank to be checked out and to pay before walking with him to the door. 

“Walk you to your car?” Gerard asked shyly. Frank flushed.

“I walked,” he said quietly. At first Gerard looked hurt, as if he thought he was being lied to, but then those damned hazel eyes that Frank had loved from the very beginning lit up with an idea. 

“It’s a cold day. Could I drive you home?”

“I don’t want to be bother,” Frank said without thinking, even though his first instinct was to scream out yes and hug the man who was overridden with grocery bags.

“No—it’s fine! It’s cold.” Gerard looked at him hopefully and Frank found himself nodding and following Gerard to his car. _His_ car.

In two years Gerard had his own apartment, his own car, his own cell phone, and his own life. Sure, Mikey was still watching over him, but he was living free.

The tears were coming to him again. He was just that relieved—that happy.

They continued to make small talk on the ride home, Frank catching Gerard watching him a little more than the road. 

“It’s probably really dangerous to pick up men at the grocery store and drive them home,” Gerard said at one point. “But…I just feel like I _know_ you. It seems so stupid—thanks for not being a serial killer or something.”

It took a lot of will power not to try to kiss Gerard goodbye as he got out of the car. Gerard was wise enough about strangers to not offer to walk Frank upstairs to his apartment. He did say goodbye, and he did wave, but that was all. Gerard smiled, of course, and waved back as he drove away. 

As soon as Frank got into the building the tears fell. Gerard was back in his life again. Gerard was back to life again, and he wasn’t alone. Mikey was taking care of him, but he was otherwise independent. He was better.

It seemed a little too quick to declare that, but it had been over two years and Gerard was out in public on his own—only acting shy and nervous because he was trying to pick up a date.

As he opened the front door of his apartment, the scrape and clacking of claws on the floor greeted him. Pig, of course, because Frank could never rid himself of the dog Gerard bought for him…no matter how he got the money to do it. And then there was the second dog, a poodle-mix named Bear…there were many things Frank couldn’t let go of that reminded him of Gerard.

Frank set the groceries on the table after giving each dog an affectionate stroke and few brief, affectionate words of greeting, and did the only other things his mind could think of at that moment—call Ray.

“Ray—you won’t believe who I ran into at the grocery store just now,” Frank stammered out, lacking breath and trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

“That drag queen you kissed on New Years?” Frank groaned. “I don’t know—I’m about to go to work, can I call you later?”

“It was _Gerard._ ” A brief pause.

“Oh, God…tell me everything.” Forgetting Ray had mentioned work, Frank retold the story, explaining how he couldn’t tell if Gerard remembered him or not. “So you’re going to go on a date with him?”

“Yeah—well, I hope. If he calls me. Do you think he’ll call me?”

“Call Mikey.”

“I don’t have his number anymore—and why would I call him?”

“I do. I’ll call him. At least then you’ll know if Gerard remembers anything. But I’ve got work—so I’ll do it later.” They said their goodbyes and Frank retuned to the task of giving his dogs the toys he bought and putting the rest of his stuff away…even remembering to take off his coat and hang it up.

( ) ( ) ( )

He waited long past six hours and his phone never rang…he almost started crying again like a pathetic girl stood up on a date with the man of her dreams, but the shrill barking of his dogs and the sound of three knocks on his front door broke his concentration just in time.

After hurriedly carrying his dogs to his bedroom and closing them in—since neither of them had manners about houseguests—and undoing the locks on his front door when he returned, he opened the door and stared in shock. Gerard…smiling shyly.

“Hey…Mikey’s cat chewed my phone charger and it died so I couldn’t call. After feeling sorry for myself, I realized I could just stop by. A lady let me in and showed me to your door. Mrs. Sanderson?” Frank nodded—the Grandma of his apartment complex’s floor. “Is this a bad time? I heard dogs, did they disappear?”

“I…I put them in the bedroom. They get a little excited over guests. Do you want to come in?” Frank asked, motioning Gerard inside. Gerard came in quickly and looked around. 

“I wanna see the doggies,” Gerard said quietly. “I kind of like dogs. They’re better than cats…better than Mikey’s mean cats. Mikey’s my brother,” Gerard added on, smiling as he said the name.

Frank remembered when Gerard didn’t know what his brother’s name was.

Frank released the hounds, relishing the delighted sound Gerard made when they ambushed him. 

“Hi, puppies! Oh my goodness, you’re so excited!” He was talking in some kind of baby-talk voice, making the dogs go crazy. They seemed to like him. Bear jumped into his arms. “What’re their names?” He giggled when Bear licked his chin.

“Uh, Bear and Pig. Bear’s the white one and Pig is—”

“The _chubby_ puppy,” Gerard finished in an excited squeal, setting Bear down and picking Pig up. “ _Heavy_ puppy—you don’t mind me picking them up do you?” He asked suddenly, looking at Frank with worry, afraid he’d offend Frank on their first date.

“It’s okay—they’re durable. Pig will jump away from you though if you aren’t careful.” Gerard held the dog a little tighter. 

Wasn’t it practically Gerard’s dog? He’d bought it.

“How old are they?” Gerard asked, setting Pig down and watching the dogs as they sniffed his shoes and pant legs. 

“Pig’s a little over two and a half, maybe, and Bear’s only a year old.”

“Aw. Where did you get them?” Gerard looked at Frank nervously and then glanced around the room again as if trying to decide what to do in the strange apartment that he’d lived in once before.

“I got Bear at the shelter—you can have a seat on the couch, I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Oh, I love coffee,” Gerard said, smiling in a shy way. Frank chuckled and slipped towards the kitchen, but waited by the doorway to finish the conversation before disappearing inside. “And where did you get Pig? Same place?”

“My ex bought him for me just before we broke up,” Frank said, not wanting to lie to him.

“Oh…you kept it?”

“I love dogs. I loved him.”

“Do you…still have feelings for him?” Gerard asked, sinking into himself on the couch.

“I do,” Frank said. “He…he kind of died, though.” Gerard opened his mouth several times in alarm and then stammered that he was sorry. “It was a couple years ago. I’m as over it as I can get. Do you want your coffee black?”

“Yes please,” Gerard said, biting his lower lip nervously. It was too deep of a conversation for a first date.

“So, what kind of music are you interested in, Gerard?” Frank asked as he started a pot of coffee.

“Oh, um…a little of everything. Rock…um…”

“I was just wondering because I play guitar with my friend on the weekends.”

“My brother used to play guitar!” Gerard called out with excitement. Frank heard him get off of the couch and hurry to join him in the kitchen. 

“Really? What type?” Frank hoped his excitement sounded genuine. “I play rhythm.”

“Bass…I think,” Gerard said looking at Frank with a strange sort of admiration. “I feel bad that he stopped. It was kind of my fault.”

“How’s that?” Frank asked, interested in the censored version of this story—the story that didn’t include him. 

Gerard looked away quickly and stared at the murky sink faucet. 

“Um…”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Frank said. “I mean, it’s not really my business, but I’m not going to judge you. We all come from someplace.”

“I…I was really involved in drugs for a while,” Gerard said. The shame etched on his face said that he believed this to be true. “Really involved…I mean, chunks of my life are missing because I abused so badly. I don’t even remember dropping out of high school—I got a degree later though!” Gerard exclaimed in his defense. He liked Frank. It showed in how desperately he tried to keep up his image so Frank wouldn’t think he was unworthy of his time. “I mean, once I sobered up. I’m clean now. I caused a lot of trouble, and one of things I did was lose Mikey his friends who he played with. I still feel awful, but he doesn’t blame me.”

“He could play with me and my friend some time. We’ve got a drummer now.”

“Singer?” Gerard asked, smiling shyly and possessing a strange, almost knowing look in his eyes. 

“No, not yet.”

“What’s a band without a singer?” Gerard asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Nothing,” Frank said with a short laugh. “Noise…background music?”

“I can sing a little.”

“Okay then,” Frank said, trying to repress a smirk. “Say I’m an agent trying to sign a new singer to a crummy garage band. You come in for an interview.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, blushing slightly and smiling. 

“Sing something.” Gerard looked away and giggled.

“I can’t,” he said. He sounded like he was teasing.

“Aw, come on.”

“I don’t sing on the first date,” Gerard said with a laugh, looking back at Frank. All of a sudden his face took on a seductive look and he started creeping towards Frank slowly. Frank swallowed hard. No. This had to be a dream. He’d had evil dreams like this before. “I kiss though—I can’t date a bad kisser.” He always woke up crying…

“Oh, you _can’t?_ ” Frank said, almost collapsing into tears as he opened his arms and the man he loved came into them. To touch Gerard again…to smell him, to feel him. It was all like a dream.

But he had to keep himself together because there was no way Gerard was going to date a man who fell into a fit of tears on the first date.

Gerard had his arms around Frank in an instant, holding him tightly but keeping their faces a few inches apart. Frank looked into his eyes for a moment as he wound his arms around the beautiful man’s waist—there was no recognition in Gerard’s eyes, just nervousness and a hint of lust.

As if afraid this was some illusion preparing to end, Frank leaned up and pressed his lips to Gerard’s. They tasted like cigarettes, but Frank pressed further, getting lost in the familiar but distant feeling. He knew this mouth…

Gerard made a quiet sound as Frank licked across his lower lip, but quickly opened his mouth to let Frank’s tongue in. Gerard kept making those little sounds, small, needy sounds as Frank sucked his tongue and explored his mouth. 

Frank was the one who broke the kiss when Gerard began to cling to him tighter, subtly digging his nails into his back through his shirt. 

“Sorry,” Gerard gasped, quickly pulling away. “I didn’t mean to…to _dig in_ like that—I…”

“Nah,” Frank said, giving him a small smile even though he was about to cry. He reached up to push a strand of red hair out of Gerard’s face…away from those deep eyes. “Dig in, Beautiful.” Gerard looked at him what almost looked like alarm and then settled into an embarrassed smile. Gerard now looked close to tears. 

“I’m not usually this easy,” Gerard said quickly, turning his face away and staring at the slowly filling pot of coffee. Frank looked at him for a minute and then glanced at the dogs who were watching them from the doorway. 

“You _like_ me,” Frank said, deciding to sound playful so Gerard would become less tense.

“And I don’t even know you,” Gerard said quietly. “That’s strange—is it strange if I say that I’ve never been this comfortable with a stranger before? I mean, I’ve never even seen you before but…but I feel like I know you.”

“Yeah, I…I’m feeling that way, too,” Frank said, knowing he didn’t sound convincing. Gerard twitched a little, almost angrily. Like he was mad that he was being lied to so bluntly—as if he thought he was being mocked. “There’s something about you. It’s like…like a static in my brain. Like this little pull in my chest…maybe we met in another life.” The description seemed to fit Gerard’s feelings because his eyes widened with surprise and he looked back at Frank with a slightly open mouth. 

Frank wanted to kiss him again.

“Can I kiss you?” Gerard asked suddenly. “I…I really like you.” Frank put his arms around Gerard waist again and pulled him close, pressing their lips together firmly. Gerard moaned and opened his mouth quickly, eager to let Frank in. It was sloppy, it was wet—it was so damned sexy. “Ah—coffee’s done,” Gerard said during a small break for breath. Frank almost offered to pour him a cup when Gerard started kissing him again.

In seconds he had Frank moaning, too. God, when did Gerard learn to take control? Who taught Gerard to kiss like this? Frank was so jealous…

Then Frank found himself being pushed back against the counter, Gerard’s hips pushing against his. Frank wasn’t sure which of them broke the kiss first, but Gerard got in the first word.

“I give—I give everything on the first date,” he panted out, not looking at Frank but staring at the counter. His eyes were glazed over with want, but he looked so detached. Maybe he wasn’t completely healed.

“After you have coffee,” Frank said, pushing Gerard back gently.

It seemed Gerard suddenly remembered what he’d said and began to blush profusely. 

“I should go—I didn’t mean that. I’m not—I should go.”

“No,” Frank said, probably a little too forcefully. “No, don’t go. Have some coffee. Let’s sit down and watch some TV.” Gerard looked at him nervously but then nodded.

“I’m sorry. I _don’t_ do that on the first date…I don’t…do that.” Gerard pulled into himself and said nothing as Frank poured them each a cup of coffee.

“You kiss but you don’t sing,” Frank said, clicking his tongue playfully and handing Gerard his cup. The other man looked sad—embarrassed, no doubt, by what he’d just let himself do.

“I don’t have sex because I was raped once, okay!?” Gerard snapped, genuine anger showing on his face. Obviously, he didn’t take Frank’s comment as an attempt to change the subject. 

“I-I know,” Frank said, not really thinking, just trying to calm the man down—terrified that he would leave and it would be over for them. Again.

“You _know?_ ” Gerard asked, glaring at him harshly. Those eyes still held the fury of the devil… “What, is it painted on my goddamned _face?_ The hell you know! I’m not putting up with this,” he added on in a grumble, starting for the doorway.

“No—wait,” Frank called, probably sounding like his desperation was the result of being denied immediate sex and hoping he could still try to get it. “Wait!” But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t let Gerard leave him. Not again.

And Gerard probably would have left if it hadn’t been for the shrill yap of Bear after he was stepped on.

“Oh, damn—I’m sorry, doggie,” Gerard said, voice riddled with more than just sympathy for the whimpering dog. He sank down to be on the dog’s level, giving Frank the time he needed to get between Gerard and the door. Gerard pulled Bear close to him and started petting him. “Probably could do without being stepped on by my fat ass,” Gerard said, sighing heavily. “I really didn’t mean to hurt your dog, Frank,” he said, looking at him with those beautiful eyes. 

“He’s okay. He’s always getting underfoot.”

“Yeah, but you probably weigh half of what I do.”

“I don’t think so,” Frank said, sitting down beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder. Gerard seemed to have calmed down. “Uh…this is probably too much for a first date, but I’m not the kind of guy who forces people to do things they don’t want to. And I don’t judge people easily…I’m not going to hurt you, and if I do I don’t mean to.” Gerard looked at him with curious eyes.

“We know each other,” he said. “We _have_ to—who talks like this? What strangers talk like this?”

“Soul mates?” Frank said suddenly. Gerard blushed. 

“You don’t kiss that good,” Gerard mumbled, looking away.

“No?” Frank asked, being bold and kissing him on the cheek. Gerard blushed.

He may have forgotten a convenient eight years of his life, but he still had the same personality. Unnecessary guilt, short temper, easily flustered…

“Did we…go to school together? Middle school maybe?”

“How could we, you’re like…five years younger than me,” Frank said. Gerard blushed darker and turned his face away. 

“I don’t look that young!” He exclaimed shyly, picking at Bear’s fur the way one would pick at a shag carpet.

“You’re cute,” Frank said in place of ‘I’ve missed you.’ 

“Sorry I got mad,” Gerard said quietly. “You apparently just like to say random, inappropriate things.”

“Yup.” Gerard giggled. “You make me lose control.”

“Oh, my,” Gerard said, releasing Bear and moving to stand up, careful this time of Bear and Pig. “Making things perverted now?”

“You walked into that one on your own,” Frank said, getting up as well, thankful to see that Gerard was going back to the kitchen.

“I’m so dirty, Babe…” He grabbed his cup of coffee off the counter and winked.

“I like you,” Frank said, wanting to say love…but that would probably be the end of their night together. Gerard would no doubt be creeped out by that.

“I like you, too,” Gerard said, smiling over the rim of his cup. 

“So…uh…how’s your brother?” Frank asked in an intentionally too-friendly tone, playing off the fact that they’d “never met” but felt like they’d known each other for years.

“Moody,” Gerard said with a laugh. “It’s like he’s got permanent PMS or something. I love him to death though—but, but not in a weird way!” Gerard suddenly insisted. Frank laughed into his coffee and shook his head. So fucking cute…if he didn’t laugh at him, he’d start to cry. “I’d be pretty lonely if he didn’t live with me though. I don’t like to be by myself much.” He never did… “Um…”

“Still think you should sing something to me,” Frank said, just to fill the air with the sound of Gerard’s shy laugh. It worked.

“No,” he drawled out in embarrassment. 

“But I want to know if I found the singer for my band…” Another giggle. God, Frank was in hell…or maybe it was heaven. “Just one line,” he said in a teasing tone, showing that he wasn’t really forcing it, just playing.

“If I crash on your couch, can I sleep in my clothes?” It wasn’t sung at all, and Frank wasn’t sure that it was a song. Gerard did arch his eyebrow when he said it though. “’Cause I spent the night dancing—I’m drunk I suppose. If it looks like I’m laughing, I’m really just asking to leave.” To say Frank thought he’d offended him was an understatement. Was Gerard really threatening to leave?

“I—”

“This alone—you’re in time for the show…” Gerard held his cup of coffee close and started slinking towards Frank, keeping their eyes locked. This really was some kind of evil dream, wasn’t it? “You’re the one that I need, I’m the one that you loathe. You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose…” God, his mouth was getting so close, almost on Frank’s, and their hips were touching. Gerard had grown up into a tease…from teenage drug addict, to sex slave, to prostitute, to amnesia victim, to cock tease. “’Cause I love all the poison—away with the boys in the band.” Just as Gerard smirked and leaned in for a kiss, there was a heavy knock on the door and Gerard started, dropping his entire cup of coffee and crying out in alarm. The dogs went crazy. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry!—I didn’t mean to! Oh—that scared me! I was…I-I…” He looked at Frank with his beautiful eyes wide with terror. 

Frank kissed him gently, a soft peck on the corner of his mouth, and gave him a smile.

“It’s fine. I’ll go get the door.”

“I’ll clean this,” Gerard said, looking at him sadly. 

“No, you don’t have to. Here, take my coffee.” He gave Gerard his cup and slipped out of the kitchen. The person knocked again and the two small dogs ambushed the door, jumping against it and spinning in a circle when all four feet were on the ground again.

“Frank—I’m sorry!” Gerard called after him.

“Really, it’s fine,” Frank said, turning back to him and smiling. He was the same. Gerard was just the same as before, just without the trauma…

He got to the door, unlocked it, pushed the dogs back and opened it.

It was Ray…now why wasn’t Frank expecting that?

“I’m busy,” Frank hissed. Ray stared at him and then glanced over Frank’s shoulder into the apartment. 

“He’s in there, isn’t he?” Ray asked in a whisper. Frank nodded.

“Frank, should I just go?” Gerard asked from the kitchen, making Frank stiffen. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“It’s just my friend Ray,” Frank said, backing away from the door and wondering if seeing Ray might spark a memory and somehow ruin all of the progress Gerard had made.

“Can I say hi?” Gerard asked, sounding like a small child excited by receiving a visitor into his home.

“S-sure,” Frank stammered, giving Ray a warning look and then opening the door all of the way. It was almost becoming an experiment—would Gerard hate him like he used to?

The dogs jumped all over Ray’s legs as he stepped into the apartment and Frank closed the door behind him. Gerard peered at him from the kitchen, shyly clutching his cup of coffee…well, Frank’s cup—his was still shattered on the floor.

“Why don’t you two talk and I’ll clean this mess up?” Frank suggested, pointing at the coffee and broken glass on the floor.

“I really _can_ clean that up,” Gerard said, instantly ignoring Ray’s existence.

“No, you’re a guest,” Frank insisted. “I got it. It’s fine.” Gerard sighed and then looked at Ray with a pessimistic expression. 

“I like your hair,” Ray said, smiling a little. Gerard blushed and watched Frank start to pick up the broken glass as the dogs came to investigate. To keep them from getting injured, Gerard set his coffee aside and picked both of them up, carrying them over to the couch and sitting down with one on either side of him. 

“I like your…hair,” Gerard said back, trying to smile but only succeeding at looking shy. “It’s…you have a lot of it.” He looked away quickly. 

“So…how do you know Frank?” Frank shot Ray a satanic look as he wiped up the spilled coffee with a dishrag before the dogs broke free of Gerard’s grip.

“We…we met at the store,” Gerard said nervously. “Are you one of the friends Frank plays in the band with?” Ray nodded.

“Yeah, I play the guitar. Do you play anything?” Gerard shook his head quickly.

“He sings,” Frank called as he came back into the room with another cup of coffee for Gerard, reclaiming his own. Ray didn’t get any because he was invading… “But he won’t sing for me.” Gerard shot Frank a nervous, warning look—the type that said ‘don’t, he’ll know our secret. He’ll know I’m a fag and he won’t like me.’

“He’s smart. I wouldn’t sing for you.”

“Fuck you,” Frank hissed.

“Wouldn’t let you do that either.” Gerard giggled and let the dogs out of his grip in order to take the cup of coffee from Frank. 

“My brother plays guitar—he plays bass,” Gerard said, looking at Ray with interest. Frank sat down between them, feeling almost jealous. 

“Really?”

“Yeah—he’s pretty good at it. Maybe he could play with you guys sometime. He used to play a couple years ago with some guys, but…but it didn’t work out.” Gerard looked at Frank guiltily and then at the dogs who were sniffing where the spilt coffee had been. 

“We could use another guitarist,” Ray stated. “Sounds like a good idea. We should all get together for lunch sometime.” Gerard smiled warmly and sipped at his coffee. 

“Mikey will be happy.” …or so Gerard thought for another fifteen minutes of conversation until he realized that he’d left home without telling Mikey he was going out and his phone was dead so there was no way they could communicate. “Mikey’s going to be so pissed—he’ll _worry._ I have to—Frank, Ray, I’m sorry, I gotta go.” He was trying to leave, literally trying to run out of the apartment.

Frank didn’t want to let him go again.

“Let me get out of your way first,” Ray said, beating Gerard to the door and slipping away before Frank had to tell him to. 

“You don’t have to leave!” Gerard called warily. “He didn’t have to go,” he said to Frank once Ray was gone. Then he smirked. “But now I get a kiss goodbye.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could come with you—I’d like to meet your brother.”

“You want to see where we live?” Gerard asked nervously, glancing at the door and then at Frank.

“If it’s okay.” Gerard looked nervous for another moment and then smiled again and nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, yeah, meet Mikey. You’ll like him—but he has a girlfriend.” So Mikey had a girlfriend…

( ) ( ) ( )

“Can you wait here a minute?” Gerard asked nervously as soon as Frank stepped onto the front stoop of Gerard and Mikey’s townhouse. “I just want to clean up a little—I wasn’t expecting guests and I wanna make sure Mikey’s…aware of what’s going on. He can get kinda—yeah, just wait here. I’m sorry.” Frank smiled as he watched Gerard sneak inside, looking like a teenager trying not to get caught by his parents. “Sorry,” he repeated, closing the door and leaving Frank alone in the dark… He listened, trying to catch the sounds of voices inside.

He was sure he’d heard Mikey shout out the word “again” as an angry inquiry, making him wonder what they were discussing. He heard Gerard gripe something back in a snotty tone, something slammed, and then the door was opening again and Frank took a step back.

It was Gerard, looking flustered, irritated, and falsely sociable.

“Sorry, Mikey’s being a _bitch_ tonight,” he said, shouting and looking back into the house as he insulted his brother.

“If you’d stop bringing fucking guys into my house—I’m trying to—”

“Whatever,” Gerard snapped back, cutting him off. “Come in, Frank. You can’t stay very long, but you can meet Mikey and I can show you some of my lyrics since I wouldn’t sing for you.”

“But you did sing for me,” Frank said with a wink as he stepped into the house and past Gerard in the doorway. 

Frank took a deep breath as Gerard led him around the corner of the narrow entrance room and swallowed hard when his eyes lit upon Mikey in the next room—sitting on the couch looking at the television with a pissed off expression on his face, both his arms and his legs crossed.

“Mikey, this is Frank—we met at the store today,” Gerard said, putting on a fake, cheerful tone. 

“Do you really need to bring home every guy you meet at the—” Mikey stopped when he finally turned his head and saw who was standing in his living room. “—store,” he finished. He and Frank stared at each other for a moment and then Mikey looked away, shaking his head. 

“He plays guitar, too. Him and his friend Jay.”

“Ray,” Frank corrected.

“Whoever,” Gerard said with a shrug.

“Cool,” Mikey stated indifferently, staring at the television with too much anxiety to fit the program. “And that means what?”

“Aw, don’t be like that—I found someone you can play with.”

“I’m not a kid you need to set up on a play date,” Mikey said sharply, getting off the couch and leaving the room—probably going to his room. Gerard stared after him, looking like he might cry.

Frank touched his arm gently and Gerard jumped as if he’d been struck. 

“Um…he’s mad at me I think,” Gerard mumbled. “Is it okay if I go talk to him for a second? I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Frank said, offering him a smile. Gerard could never understand how wonderful it was for Frank just to be in the same building with him, whether they were interacting or not.

“Sorry,” he said again, disappearing into the same hallway as Mikey. They were gone for about fifteen minutes, but the only voice Frank heard escalate was Gerard’s, and he sounded like he was whining.

But Mikey was the first one to reappear, hurrying towards Frank as if trying to get a word in before Gerard caught him. Yeah, that was exactly what he wanted…

“The hell are you trying to do?” Mikey hissed into his ear. Frank stiffened.

“He doesn’t remember—”

“For how long?” Mikey snapped. “Move on—he did.”

“I love him, Mikey. I _can’t._ ” Mikey growled and looked over his shoulder. Gerard hadn’t reappeared yet.

“Two years?” He asked in frustrated disbelief. “You can’t let go after two years?”

“Mikey…”

“Whatever—don’t let anything slip if you’re going to hang around. You fuck him up again and I’ll murder you.”

“Mikey, quit trying to intimidate him!” Gerard snapped, appearing in the living room again. “He hasn’t done anything.” Gerard went over to them and dropped his head down onto Frank’s shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

“If you’re planning to fuck tonight turn your stereo on—I don’t want to hear it.” Mikey turned his back to them and returned to what was probably his bedroom. Gerard tensed at the statement and called after him sadly.

“Mikey—it’s only our first date…Mikey!” He told Frank to wait again and then went after his brother once more. “Why are you mad?” 

With a guilty sigh, Frank turned to look at the door. He could leave. He _should_ leave—run into the night and never let Gerard see him again…hide, change his phone number, get a new apartment…disappear. Mikey was right. If he stayed around, Gerard was going to remember why they knew each other. He was going to figure everything out and all of his progress would be ruined. 

“You’re just pissed because I actually get some and you can’t!” Gerard shouted at the top of his voice, calling Frank back from his thoughts. “It’s not my fault your girlfriend’s a good Christian girl!”

“Fuck off!” Mikey spat back even louder. Gerard came back looking flushed and angry, making Frank nervous.

“He acts like he’s five or something,” Gerard hissed, motioning for Frank to sit with him on the couch. The redhead searched for the remote a minute and changed the channel to something of even less interest than what Mikey had been watching once he found it. “I don’t know why he’s so mad at me.” As soon as Frank sat down beside him, Gerard leaned over and put his head on his shoulder. 

“I think you just brought one too many guys home,” Frank suggested, tipping his head so it rested on Gerard’s. The other man hummed. 

“I get lonely,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Do you ever have trouble just…sleeping alone?” He asked, his tone suddenly becoming serious.

“Sometimes,” Frank admitted.

“I hate it…and it’s impossible to find someone to just _sleep_ over. If they get in bed with you they expect something, and if you don’t give it they won’t stay.”

“I’d stay,” Frank said without thinking. Gerard sat up slowly. 

“Really?” He asked, looking conflicted and unbelieving. Frank had to force himself into Gerard’s shoes. They’d just met—even if they’d known each other intimately once before—and Frank was literally offering to crawl into bed with him and promising not to abuse his trust.

Who could trust a stranger with that?

“I’d stay,” Frank repeated, reaching over and caressing Gerard’s cheek gently with the back of his finger. Gerard smiled and sighed softly.

“Hm…want to see some of my songs?”

“Will you sing them for me?” Gerard blushed and looked away.

“No…but I’ll show you the lyrics.” Gerard slipped off of the couch and motioned for Frank to follow him down a short hallway and to his room. 

It was a mess, but Gerard navigated through it as if the chaos was intentional—perhaps even an art form. There was a long desk across the far wall with a laptop on it and more than enough stacks of paper. Frank could see sketches, paintings, scribbled out lyrics, and long phrases written all over everything. There were bookshelves and dressers covered in art supplies and stains from paint and ink. 

It looked like someone had murdered a comic book in here, and that the ink from the pages and the covers were spattered on the furniture. 

“It’s a mess, I know. Mikey tells me every day—uh…” Gerard went over to one of the shelves in the room and successfully knocked half of the stuff on it to the floor in order to get a hold on one black binder and that he brought over to Frank. “These are my older ones—I wrote them about a year ago, but the farther you go, they older they get. A lot are from these times I don’t remember—I told you about my…my drug problem. So, I don’t know what made me write them, but I really like them a lot—as conceited as it sounds.”

“It’s not conceited,” Frank said, taking the binder from Gerard and trudging farther into the room in order to sit on the bed. Gerard shut the door and followed him excitedly. “You _should_ take pride in your work.”

Then Frank began reading and the little side comments that Gerard was making about each lyric and why he didn’t like it or didn’t think it was good faded into the background and mixed with the indistinct murmurs on the television. 

The newer-old lyrics were okay, but it was the ones at the back of the book—the old-old lyrics—that had his interest more than anything. The lyrics he’d written while they’d been in love.

He was seeing that version of Gerard’s soul, but it was one set of lyrics in particular that caught his interest and wouldn’t let him go.

“I really wish I remembered who I wrote this one about,” Gerard muttered. “I asked Mikey and he said he didn’t know. It’s…it’s more written from that person’s point of view, I think, than mine. I don’t feel as attached to it as the others—like, uh—like I _like_ it, I like it a lot, but I don’t feel like I’m the one saying the words. That’s all.” 

It was called “I Don’t Love You.” Frank felt that it was the harshness of the title that had caught his attention, but the words didn’t seem as cruel and bitter. For a moment…for a moment he’d been afraid that those were the words Gerard had been meaning to say when he’d left him those years ago, but couldn’t force them out.

“It’s like the person is saying it to me, you know? I think I was beating myself up over leaving them, and envisioned them saying these angry things. Well…they aren’t really angry—just hurt.” Gerard’s explanation was useless…Frank got it. 

When you go, would you have the guts to say “I don’t love you, like I loved you yesterday”…

It was all right there. Gerard expected Frank to believe that he no longer loved him but didn’t have the strength to say it. But from Gerard’s perspective, perhaps the love had never diminished at all—he had to end it. He had to end the relationship for Frank’s _own good._

“I-I like this song better,” Gerard called out suddenly after Frank had stared at the page for seemingly too long. He’d flipped back to the start of the book and showed him a different song—one with no title but which referenced someone wanting to sleep with his brother…as in, Gerard being pissed that someone wanted to fuck his brother.

He seemed to have selected it at random to get Frank’s focus off of that one page.

“What one was it that you were telling me earlier?” Frank asked, closing the book and noting the obvious sigh of relief from Gerard. 

“It’s newer,” Gerard said with a nod.

“Can I see it?” Frank asked in a teasing tone. Gerard looked at him with a small, shy smile.

“You already did,” he said before turning his face away.

“Not all of it,” Frank said back, inching closer to him for no real reason. 

“Yes all of it,” Gerard said with a small laugh.

“Oh, you just made it up,” Frank said in a dramatic tone of understanding. Gerard giggled and turned his face farther away. Frank leaned closer and rested his chin on Gerard’s shoulder briefly.

To be this close again…to hold him again…to sleep beside him, to kiss him…

Gerard turned his head subtly to look and him and Frank leaned back, meeting Gerard’s gaze and falling into those eyes. He looked like he was in pain.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked quietly. Gerard blinked and lowered his gaze. “What’s the matter?”

“I want to kiss you,” Gerard said as if he was ashamed.

“So kiss me,” Frank said, trying to catch Gerard’s gaze again. 

“But then I’ll ask for more,” Gerard mumbled. “And I don’t _want_ more.” He was afraid that if they kissed again, kissed like they had been in the kitchen of Frank’s apartment, Frank was going to take advantage of him…he was afraid he’d be raped. At least that was what it seemed like. He said if they kissed, he’d be ‘asking for more’…asking for _it._

“I’ll stop you,” Frank said softly. “If it starts going too far, I’ll stop.” Gerard looked away and shook his head. 

“No you won’t.” 

“I’m not like other guys,” Frank said in his own defense. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s only a kiss.” Gerard looked at him nervously and then crept closer on the bed, moistening his lips and looking shy—looking like he’d never done this before. “Come here,” Frank said softly, placing a gentle hand on the back of Gerard’s head and leaning further in to press their lips together gently. 

Gerard made a quiet noise and opened his mouth, licking alongside Frank’s tongue and then sucking it softly. It was too slow—too passionate, Frank could tell because Gerard was getting lost in it, making quiet little moans and eventually getting his arms around Frank’s waist and digging in his nails. 

“I like this,” Gerard sighed after breaking the kiss to take a breath. “I want more,” he whimpered.

“No,” Frank said, leaning back only to find Gerard pulling him closer. “You said you _didn’t_ want more.”

“ _No,_ ” Gerard argued, tilting his head back to show his throat. “ _More…_ ” He locked his eyes with Frank’s, looking needy and uncertain. Frank sighed and leaned in again, attaching his lips to Gerard’s neck and making the other man mewl softly. Frank made sure not to stay in any one spot for too long, afraid to leave a mark—afraid to damage Gerard or piss Mikey off even more. 

Gerard didn’t seem to mind the constant movement—if anything, it excited him more. The slow licks from his collarbone up to his jaw, the gentle nips back down—in a few minutes time he was squirming and trying to press his hips against whatever was available. In this case, it was Frank’s knee.

“I think we should stop,” Frank breathed when Gerard repeatedly tried to lay back and pull him down on top of him. Gerard growled in protest and rutted against him harder.

“Why?”

“We’re going to get carried away,” Frank said, finally being forced to fall down on top of Gerard on the bed, Gerard’s legs on either side of his hips.

“Forget I said that,” Gerard breathed. “Want you…You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I want you, too, but you’re going to have to wait.” Gerard looked away from him and sighed, lifting a hand to lace his fingers with Frank’s. He was starting to calm himself down. It was almost five minutes before Gerard looked him in the eye again.

“Stay the night?” He asked softly, blinking his eyes slowly and squeezing their linked hands. 

“Sure, Beautiful,” Frank said, pressing a soft kiss on the other’s lips. “Just have to tell Ray to let my dogs out—he has a key.” Frank rolled over so they were on their sides and reached for his phone from his pocket. 

Gerard watched his every move with interest, especially when Frank turned off his phone and set it aside. 

“I like you,” Gerard said quietly, scooting closer to him and smiling.

“I like you, too,” Frank said back, wanting to say love but understanding that he couldn’t. Slow…things were going to have to go so very slow. 

“You’re not kissing me,” Gerard said in a halfway playful tone.

“I’d rather talk to you instead,” Frank stated. Gerard’s eyes took on a strange look, as if no one had said that to him before…at least not in bed.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank woke up by being shoved on the shoulder and made to roll away from the warm body he was crushed against. 

“Get the fuck out of my brother’s bed,” someone hissed. Frank opened his eyes cautiously to find the room he was in dark—barely lit by the beam fading in from the hallway. This wasn’t his apartment, and the voice sounded like Mikey’s.

That meant it hadn’t all been a dream—it had been a reality too good to be true.

“What?” Frank asked sleepily, glancing at the body lying beside his own. It really was Gerard…just with different hair and different memories.

“I said get the _fuck_ out of my brother’s bed,” Mikey repeated, glaring at him distinguishably, even in the dark.

“I promised Gerard I’d stay…no.”

“I’m not asking you to leave,” Mikey snapped. “Just to get your _ass_ up for a minute.” Frank made a quiet sound and sat up, making sure not to jostle Gerard and wake him. Gerard barely even twitched as Frank crawled over him and got onto his sleepy, unstable legs.

Mikey guided him back into the living room and pushed him so he sat down on the couch.

“Okay, look, congratulations on getting him to bring you home—good job, you got him back. But is that what you two agreed to?”

“Gerard told me to pretend I didn’t know him if we met up again. That’s what I did. I can’t help it if he still likes me even though he doesn’t remember,” Frank argued. 

“Whatever—soul mates or not, I don’t care. If you hurt him, I’m going to _kill_ you. I don’t care if you’ve been crying your eyes out every day for the past two and a half years—if you touch him when he doesn’t want it you’re fucking dead.”

“Why do you think I would do that?” Frank asked. “Mikey, you _know_ me.”

“I don’t care—I tell this to every guy he brings home. He collects men like a kid collects dogs. He finds them, he brings them home, and they run away and he can’t figure out why.”

“Why?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the same guy more than twice. He scares them off.”

“Or you scare them off,” Frank suggested. “You just gave me a death threat. If I didn’t know you—”

“I do this because he lets so many guys come in here and take advantage of him and leave. It makes me _sick._ If I didn’t keep the creeps off of him he’d be back where he came from. _Twice_ I’ve come home to find him under some guy, crying, and being told he’s not allowed up until he opens his legs— _six times_ I find him crying on the couch while some weird man is getting dressed in my living room. They don’t even let him get into bed first.”

“I wouldn’t do that—why is he with men who are doing that?”

“Because he has no confidence. If you take _advantage_ of that, I’m gonna gut you.”

“Stop with the death threats!” Frank called. “You _know_ me. I don’t want to take advantage of him. I love him. Mikey, you know I love him without having to do that.”

“I know you fucked him—he told me after he broke it off with you,” Mikey said it like an accusation.

“Why does that matter?” Frank asked. “Mikey, we were dating—we loved each other. He was better—I _thought_ he was better! I didn’t do it to hurt him. If I’d wanted to hurt him I would’ve tortured him in my home—right?” Mikey looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. He was trying to be protective, and that was a good thing…but based on his stories, his protective instincts weren’t really helping. “Mikey, he needs a boyfriend to keep him safe and show him what real love looks like. He’s just lonely—”

“Yeah, I know he’s lonely!” Mikey hissed. “You think I don’t know _why_ he brings these people over? He can’t keep a real boyfriend because who can trust a guy who’s missing eighty-percent of his memory and attributes it to drug use? It breaks his heart, so he doesn’t let them close, he just lets them in the house and soaks up whatever attention they give him.”

“So why do you think I’m going to hurt him like they do?” Frank asked. “Trust me. I love him. I’m not going to use him, and even if he decides he doesn’t want me I’m not going to hurt him.” Mikey swallowed and glanced at the floor.

“I know,” he said quietly. “Now get back in there before he wakes up and starts crying because he thinks you snuck out while he was asleep.” Frank stood up and sighed groggily. The clock on the wall said four a.m., it was too early to wake up and get death threats.

“Mikey…how has he been? Really…how has he really been?”

“Other than his boy drama he’s been alright. He has a job doing artwork for a few big corporations, he writes all the time…he _smiles_ all the time. He and Dad get along a little better.”

“Is he still seeing a therapist?”

“Twice a month he goes and sees this old woman who stares at his crotch the whole session and tells him he’s making progress. He doesn’t really need to go, I think he just likes the company.” Frank nodded and looked back to the hallway. He heard a mattress creak and then a quiet gasp. “Better get back to him,” Mikey whispered. Frank couldn’t move fast enough. Gerard had already started to sob by the time he got back in the room, thinking he’d been left.

The sob turned into a gasp when he got back to the doorway.

“Hey,” Frank said quietly, he could make out the tear streaks on Gerard’s face from the light streaming in from the hallway. “Sorry, I had to use the bathroom and Mikey caught me on my way back.” Gerard sniffed and looked at him in what had to be mistrust. 

“Forgot your phone,” Gerard said with a quiet sigh, looking in the direction of Frank’s phone.

“No…just forgot to piss before getting into bed. And then your brother threatened to gut me.”

“So you decided to come back,” Gerard stated, sitting up and rubbing the tears off his face. 

“Gerard…” Frank said as he crept back into the room.

“Why do you even like me?” Gerard asked, throwing off the blankets and getting out of bed. “Because I’m cute and easy…”

“Gerard,” Frank tried, going to him.

“Gerard, stop being a bitch—I like this one,” Mikey called as he retreated back into his own room and slammed the door. Gerard sniffed and stared at Frank in the dark.

“You can take me if you want…if it’ll make you stay.”

“No, Gerard. I don’t want that. You shouldn’t have to offer that to get someone to stay with you.” Gerard turned his head away and stiffened his posture. “Don’t let people use you. They’re just wasting your time.”

“What else do I have to spend it on?” Gerard sighed. “My art? My lyrics? _Myself?_ ”

“Use it to find someone who’s not going to use you. You’re _beautiful_ , Gerard. Someone’s going to love you.” Gerard sniffed.

“But not you,” he said as if in defeat.

“Why not me?” Frank asked, going over to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Gerard sighed softly. “I’m…I’m kinda starting to feel a little possessive of you. I don’t want to see you with anybody else. Makes me jealous.” Gerard laughed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

“So…I take it you won’t let this be an open relationship?” Gerard asked softly.

“Sorry, I don’t really like being cheated on any more than you like those one night stands.” Gerard lowered his head and then started back towards his bed.

“Come back to bed?” Gerard suggested, lying back down and giving Frank what was probably a seductive look disguised by innocence. How could he say no to that?

“Only if I can have another kiss goodnight,” Frank stated, going to him and crawling in bed beside him. Gerard hummed and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“No more mouth sex,” Gerard said, dropping down in the blankets and curling up. “I can’t talk myself down again tonight.”

“Mouth sex,” Frank muttered to himself. That was a new term for a kiss. He put an arm over Gerard’s waist and held him close, smiling contentedly as Gerard cuddled closer. “Goodnight, Beautiful,” Frank whispered softly. Gerard hummed.

“Night, Frankie,” he said back, squirming until his head was resting against Frank’s chest. “Love you…”

“Love you, too,” Frank whispered back, unable to help himself.

“Is that…too much for a first date?” Gerard asked quietly, sounding both nervous and shy.

“But we’ve known each other for years,” Frank said in a put-on, familiar tone. Gerard giggled because for him it wasn’t true, and curled closer to Frank.

“Whatever you say, Frankie,” Gerard muttered, entwining their legs. “You probably remember better than I do.” Before Frank could ask a question—or decide if asking a question was the right thing to do—Gerard was asleep, snoring softly and laying still in his sleep. 

He wasn’t going to wake him to ask, so he just wrapped an arm around him securely and held him as close as possible. Nothing was going to take him away again—not his own memory, Mikey, or someone else. He wasn’t letting go this time. If he got Gerard in his house, he was never leaving. 

They were going to be in a band together, and Gerard was going to sing and he’d play guitar—Mikey would have his friends back and Ray wouldn’t have to worry…and the drummer—he could quit dealing with depressed sighs and halfhearted performances because of a romance he’d never seen.

It was going to be perfect…Their life was going to be perfect. No one was going to hurt them again. No one could ever hurt Gerard again…especially not if Frank was there to protect him—and if they got dogs, more dogs, _big_ dogs, no one would even try.

It was the only thing Frank could think of to get himself to sleep. If he told himself the facts, that Gerard knew he was keeping something back—if he reminded himself that there were a million ways that terrible things could be slipped back into Gerard’s memory at any time…he’d never get to sleep. He’d never sleep again.

So he had to think about miracles, love, and dogs—big, protective dogs to keep Gerard’s nightmares at bay. He had to dream about what they could have if he was careful, so very, very careful…if he played his cards right…maybe there was a chance they could live together in peace. Sleep like this every night, kiss like that every day…

It all turned into some kind of a perfect dream.


	21. Epilogue

It was like a fit of static in the back of his mind. It appeared and disappeared randomly, but seemed to creep up more and more whenever he was with Frank…especially if they had sex. He just couldn’t figure it out. 

It was never like that with any of the other men he’d been with—but then again, he didn’t have this strange feeling of familiarity with them that he did with Frank.

That was what the static was—familiarity.

Gerard _knew_ Frank…he just didn’t know from where and Frank wasn’t telling. However, Frank was far too attached to him for a two month relationship…He was already using the word ‘love’ regularly. Gerard didn’t know if he should feel flattered by Frank’s commitment to him, or if he should be worried about it.

Frank was almost borderline obsessive. He wanted to visit all the time, he wanted Gerard to visit all the time—his kisses lasted an eternity, and when they made love…

Gerard blushed at the thought.

On those nights—or those days—he made Gerard feel like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. So many kisses, and kind words, and gentle touches…the other men weren’t like that. They didn’t always make him feel unimportant or used, but they never made him feel… _valued._

Yeah, Frank made him feel like he was worth a million dollars—like he was a worthwhile, loveable human being. 

Perhaps that was why Frank’s nearly smothering affection didn’t drive Gerard away. 

But still…that static. It told him things. Sometimes he dreamt of Frank’s face in a sea of others—as romantic as it sounded, the dream filled him with fear. The whole thing was a nightmare—his mind plagued with fear, uncertainty, and anxiety. It felt real. He could hear the voices of those other people, but he could see Frank’s eyes. There was warmth in them and compassion—but in the dream he wanted nothing to do with those feelings.

When he woke up, though, he felt a longing for Frank that was strong enough to pull him out of bed if he was home and chase him through the city to Frank’s apartment just to see him. No matter what time it was, Frank always received him with a warm smile and a flash of joy shone in his eyes. 

Frank loved him so much…Gerard wasn’t sure if he deserved a love so strong, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“Sweetheart, you look a little distant,” Frank said, calling Gerard immediately out of his deep, static-laced thoughts. What was hiding in that static? What life was going on on the screen too fuzzy to see? “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking about you,” Gerard answered, giving Frank a put-on dreamy smile. Frank went over to where he sat on the couch with Bear in his lap and touched his cheek before leaning down for a soft kiss. Gerard didn’t work to deepen it, just turned his face away shortly after it began. 

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart—Honey?” So many damned petnames, too. Frank almost seemed to call him anything except his name. 

“Nothing,” Gerard answered, looking Frank in the eye. Yes, there was something in that static that he wanted to dig into, but he just couldn’t let himself. It wasn’t pleasant. Something about the noise of the static told him it was unpleasant. He didn’t want to remember bad things. He was weak in the face of pain.

“Don’t want to talk about it, hu?” Frank said, looking a little sad as he sat down beside him on the couch. Gerard leaned his head onto Frank’s shoulder and sighed.

“Bad dreams,” Gerard mumbled, cuddling closer. “I still have the bad dreams and they keep me up.”

“Well…what are the dreams about? You never tell me.” Gerard couldn’t tell Frank that the reason he kept the dreams a secret was because speaking them made them real—speaking them, recanting them, made them stick in his memory…made it so he couldn’t forget them and pretend like the didn’t happen.

Was that what those nightmares were? Memories he’d suppressed in the same fashion? Don’t speak about it, don’t think about it, and it’ll go away?

But that was impossible. They were awful dreams…sexual dreams. 

Many times they were dreams that he felt were too real to be fake, but far too horrific to ever be mistaken for dreams if they’d been real. A person couldn’t push back memories like _that._ Like rape and torture…no. It just wasn’t possible.

Those things weren’t real—so it just didn’t do to dwell on them. They were better left in the dark and forgotten.

“Just nightmares,” Gerard said quietly. “You don’t need to worry.”

“But I do,” Frank answered, leaning his head onto Gerard’s. 

“It’s nothing you can help with,” Gerard said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, not a snotty one. “I’m okay as long as I wake up next to you and see that it was all just a dream.” Gerard looked at Frank in time to see him smile—it was a sad smile, a broken one. It just made him feel that something was not right…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little epilogue to show that the world is not so full of sunshine and butterflies, but enough to make it through the day. Gerard has memories, he remembers, but he keeps pushing it back and hiding behind the forced idea that those memories aren’t real—insists that they’re just nightmares. As long as Frank goes along with it, why would he have to think otherwise?
> 
> Stay tuned for the sequel Tear Ducts and Rust


End file.
